


Xander's Slayers

by nwhepcat



Series: Snapshots/Cleveland verse [11]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Character deaths in vision scenes, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwhepcat/pseuds/nwhepcat
Summary: As Xander's visions of possible futures spin out of control, the Cleveland Slayers and Scoobies join forces with Angel and Wes to discover what's behind them. But it turns out some other forces living on the Eastern Hellmouth have some plans for Xander, too.





	Xander's Slayers

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Orthoepy for the major plot complication and the big bad. Thanks to Annakovsky for helping with the Sumerian. Luddite Robot listened to much flailing just before the big 14-month pause before I finished this. Thanks much to my LJ readers who chimed in with support and answers to vital questions on topics like Milo, Marmite and word choice for a girl suspended between continents. Story Notes: The latest (maybe longest) chapter in the Snapshots serties, sequel to both "Double Vision" and "This Little Light." Spoilers for all of BtVS and AtS through the very beginning of S5. Spoilers for the movie "Signs" (unless, like me, you believe the movie spoiled its ownself). Songs and poems mentioned here are property of their authors/composers and their publishers; no copyright infringement intended.

Faith can't breathe. _Jesus God_ , she thinks. _This is it._

She looks around wildly for Buffy, but the other slayer's distracted, struggling with the door. It always sticks. 

Then the vampire is at her back, looming over her. His hand comes down by her neck, and she imagines she can feel her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers. 

_This is it_ , her mind repeats stupidly. _I'm going to die_. 

She must have whispered it, because Angel gives her shoulder a little squeeze. "You're fine, Faith. You'll be just fine. You ready?" 

"You'd better be," Buffy says. "Cause here I go." She gives one last tug at her dress and slips out the parlor door. They're all waiting in the dining room, and the goddamn _Wedding March_ is already playing. 

"I'm going to puke," Faith whispers. 

"No you're not." He grabs her hand, threads it through the crook of his arm. 

"Fuck! Where's the bouquet?" 

Angel plucks it off a chair, thrusts it into her hand. "Onward." 

Whatever made her think she could walk in these damn satin shoes? She wobbles on the spiky heels. Angel adjusts the angle of his arm, steadies her, and sweeps her through the door. 

Their friends all get to their feet as she enters, and panic surges through her. Then she sees Xander at the altar, stepping closer to the aisle where he can get a better view of her. He breaks into a delighted smile that lights up the room, drops her a wink. Suddenly she catches her breath. 

Angel delivers her to the altar and though it's not time in the ceremony for Xander to take her hand, he offers his and she seizes it as they turn to face the minister. 

* * *

The ceremony was a nice one. Everyone keeps telling her this, which is how Faith knows. She said her part without having to be poked, and that's about all she remembers after Xander winked at her. 

After, there's eating and dancing, and Faith has long ago ditched her shoes in some forgotten corner. The minister even stuck around for a while to dance -- Faith spotted her with Wes and later with Angel, but she took off, disconcerted, shortly after noticing her latest partner didn't reflect in the one small mirror they'd neglected to take down. Everyone else is still around. 

Faith finds Wes in the kitchen, restocking the fridge with beer, shoving the warm ones to the back and moving the cold ones up front. The cold glow of the fridge light isn't exactly made to flatter. It spotlights the fading line of a scar across his throat. When the hell did he pick that up? And why had the news never made its way to Buffy and her pals? 

"Hey, Wes. I was wondering--" 

"Oh, I'm afraid I must sit this one out." He looks around at her and smiles. "I came in here for a bit of a breather." He offers a bottle. 

"Rather have a Sammy, if there's one left. A Sam Adams. And no, I wasn't looking to dance. I was hoping we could talk." 

Wes finds her a Sammy and pops off the top, then gets himself a bottle of something dark and British. "Certainly, Faith." 

Kitchen's always the worst place for privacy at a party. Faith gestures toward the back garden, but it's occupied too. "Library's next door." She leads him along the back path connecting the brownstones, punches the key code and ushers him inside. "Not much of a library yet," she says as she switches on the lights, "but Giles and Robin are working on it." 

"It's quite a beautiful room," Wes says. She sees that spark of Book Guy lust that lights Giles up in here too. 

"Old law office." She drops into a chair. Her natural inclination would be to prop a chunky boot up on the nearest available surface, but the gesture doesn't quite work with the cream satin dress and the now-bare feet. 

Wes raises his bottle. "Here's to your new life. I hope you'll both be very happy." 

Faith tips her bottle toward him. "Here's hopin.'" She cuts her gaze away from him. "Means a lot, that you'd come." 

"Means a lot that you'd ask," he says softly. "You've come a long way, Faith. Anyone can see." 

She doesn't know why this makes her a little teary. Too much champagne, probably. "That's a helluva scar you've got, Wes." She touches her own throat. "What happened?" 

His face goes curiously blank for a second, like there's some kind of stutter in the thought process. "Demon attack." There's a strange vagueness to his tone, like he's listening hard to catch some distant sound. "Mauling." 

Yeah sure. Faith knows knife scars from claw marks. But she only says, "You must've been in bad shape for a while." 

"Yes." Still that odd sense of distance. "Quite." He snaps back in focus. "Was there something--?" 

"Yeah, actually. About Xander. I'm kind of worried about him." 

"Have there been aftereffects from the Hand of Imhotep?" 

"No, it's not --" She frowns. "Well, maybe. Xander had a vision during all that. A rerun of a spell cast on him on his wedding day." Wes gives her confused, and she clarifies. "He and Anya, a couple years ago. It didn't come off -- because of this vision, which I guess was _It's a Wonderful Life_ , only everything looked shitty _because_ of him. So the spell flashes back on him, and he has a vision about him and me." She takes a healthy slug of beer. "We're married, I'm vamped. So that one happened right about the time you were here. You and Giles do the spell, everything's fine. Until sometime in September. Then he starts having dreams -- visions. Different futures, he says, just as real as if he's living it. They've been tearing him apart. Giles said there's some kind of connection with certain kinds of visions and some watchers, but he doesn't have the right reference at hand, and we don't even know what's left of the Council's collection, if anything. I figured it couldn't hurt to ask you if it rings a bell." She sees it does; his expression has changed and the voice he's hearing is an inner one, not hers. "I'm thinkin' yeah, it does." 

"It could be. I'd have to hear more, talk with Xander about the specific visions." 

"Sure. We should have a confab. I'm not -- well, I'm not looking to cut Giles out of this deal." 

"No, of course not." 

"I just figured two watchers are better than one." Her mouth quirks up in a grin. "Guess I should say 'three are better than two' -- who'd've thought I'd end up hitched to one of you guys. Even if he is all new and not exactly Council-approved." 

Wes smiles ruefully. "Not a one of us is Council-approved. Actually, I'd like to talk to Xander about his new career, if he's so inclined. I don't know if I've any wisdom to impart, but experience -- I'd be happy to share what I can." 

"I think he'd like that. He loves it, but he's operating at a disadvantage, what with being twenty-three years behind on his train--" 

"He's very fortunate. Being born to a calling --" He offers her a smile with some pain behind it. "I'm not sure I'd recommend it to anyone." 

"Well, he'll need you and Giles both." 

"Perhaps it's time we formed a Western-Eastern demon hunting alliance. I have quite a wide range of texts available to me from Wolfram & Hart." 

Faith scrapes at the label of her beer bottle with her thumbnail. "Wes, you should start to worry when wildass Faith suggests caution. But it kinda skeeves me out, you and Angel mixed up with this Wolfram & Hart shit. I'm not sure I want you bringing them into Xander's thing unless the situation is desperate. Whatever research you'd do, is there any way they can trace it?" 

"It's possible, I suppose. But Faith, Angel has been given full autonomy to run the L.A. branch as he sees fit. We've been handed an amazing weapon for our fight, with complete freedom." 

His mouth says one thing, Faith notices, while his vibe says another. "Nobody can tell you better than me, there's nothin' like complete freedom to grease the skids to hell." 

He nods slowly. "I'll give that some thought, Faith. And I'll see what my memory turns up on the watcher visions. We should get back. It's your wedding night. Tomorrow morn--" a flicker of a smile "-- afternoon -- will be soon enough." 

On the way through the kitchen she grabs another Sammy for herself and a Dos Equis for Xander. She finds him in a corner of the parlor, huddled with Willow and Buffy. Just like old times when she'd find them at the Bronze, laughing and easy together on that ratty, ancient couch. A wave of loneliness washes over her unexpectedly, that familiar feeling that she could never be part of this. Funny how emotions imprint themselves on you, even when you should have outgrown them. 

One of the beers is lifted from her hand. "Thanks, Faith, you're the best," Dawn puts an extra helping of smarm in her voice. 

"In your underage dreams, babe." She snatches the bottle back. "Nice try, though." 

She turns back toward Xander and he's getting to his feet. "Excuse me, ladies, I have to dance with my wife." He relieves her of the beers, handing them off to Buffy and Willow, then pulls her into the dining room. 

_My wife_. The sound of these words make her dizzy, in the best possible way. Her husband gathers her into his arms as another song starts up. Giles has taken over the stereo, playing some folkie with a soul singer's voice. 

"I missed you," Xander whispers into her hair. 

"Wes and I had business," she says. "Tell you later." 

_Hark now, hear the sailors cry  
Smell the sea and feel the sky_

She knows this song. It's always made her ache, reminded her of watching the blessing of the fleet each year when she was a kid. Wishing she could go out there into the boundless sea and never come back to her crap town. 

_Let your soul and spirit fly  
Into the mystic_

Now she sways in Xander's arms, eyes closed but knowing the people she cares about are around her. They're here for her, for Faith and Xander. Some of them traveled a couple thousand miles. People who used to be her enemies, and now they've come all this way to share the most important day of her life. Suddenly a part of the song that never spoke to her before is piercing her right through: 

_And when that foghorn blows  
You know I will be coming home_

You can hear this guy caress the word _home_ , just the way she used to savor a mouthful of cigarette smoke, lingering over its passing. All at once a song that used to be about the ache of longing to leave has turned into a hymn of homecoming. She'd never suspected it could feel like this, being home. She'd never thought home would mean the arms of a man who would never hurt her. That it would mean cracking a joke about a beer with a gangly teenage girl or talking over her worries with someone who took her seriously. She'd never believed it was something she could have. 

The song comes to an end and Xander steps back just enough to look into her face. "Hey," he says, touching a fingertip to her tears. "What is it?" 

"Ah shit," she says. "Just your basic weepy bride." 

"Happy tears?" Xander flicks his tongue at his fingertips. "They taste like happy tears." 

It makes her laugh, and some small tension in his face eases. "Of course happy, you dope." 

They decide to head upstairs, but first she must run a gauntlet of hugs. They're not quite so hard to accept as she'd thought they'd be, and soon enough she's alone with Xander. 

* * *

Okay, so the wedding night's not all about fucking like minks. Kind of a surprise, considering the jokes she'd heard her whole life, but she can work with it. They start out heading in that direction, all foreplaypalooza, but it turns into canoodling and talking pretty much all night long. 

It's nice. 

Xander tells her about the first time he'd thought she was really beautiful -- as opposed to hot. The one school dance she'd gone to. Her hair piled up on her head, the simple black dress (not that different in cut from today's cream satin). 

"Huh," she says. "I don't remember catching a vibe from you." 

"I was too busy feeling guilty about Cordelia because I was busy feeling horny over Willow. My vibe output circuits were on overload." 

"Willow?" 

"I was slow on the uptake, but yeah. We never managed to get our timing right." 

She's silent for a moment. "She knows more about you than I ever will." 

He puts his hand in her hair, cradles her head to his heart. "Much of it non-essential information. The white paste-eating phase. That ugly Barbie incident. Things better lost to the mists of time. And anyway, you know things about me she never will. So when was it for you?" 

"When was what?" 

"That you noticed me, really." 

Faith flicks her tongue at his nipple to distract him. She doesn't want to say, but she won't lie to him. 

"Hey, no fair," he says. "I told you." 

"Maybe I don't want you to know what a fuckin' remedial I am." 

He kisses the top of her head. "It's all right." 

She snugs her arms around him. "Wasn't till the swap." She raises herself on her elbow, meets his gaze. "I couldn't really look at you before. Especially after ... things went the way they did. Even before, though. I looked in your eyes and there was way too much feeling there. It scared me. Once I was in there, I could really see you. I'll be the first to say how retarded that sounds." 

"No," he says, "I think I get it." He kisses her again. "Plus I'm so much better looking now." 

"I noticed that. And modest, too." They both laugh and things turn back to kissing and canoodling for long, unhurried stretches. This is something new for Faith. She and Xander just invoked the Big F-word -- forever. They have all the time in the world to get to the good stuff. And it turns out that all the nibbling and stroking and licking and laughing are the good stuff, too. 

She tries to keep it going, keep them both riding on a wave of talk and not-talk. Give Xander a night without visions for his wedding present. But late into the night they lapse into an ebb and flow as sleep pulls at them both. At one point when they're both surging on a tide of wakefulness, she brings up Wes. "When was it he got his throat cut?" 

"What?" 

"You haven't noticed the scar?" She slashes her finger along her own neck. "Someone cut him, ear to fuckin' ear. Nobody here heard anything about that?" 

"No. I guess we could check with Giles, but he'd probably have said something. And it's not like they're best buds." 

"Here's the weird thing. I was talking with him earlier tonight, and asked him about it. He said a demon mauled him." 

"Well then--" 

"You should've seen the way he said it, Xander. He was like -- I don't know, like he was brainwashed or something. All he said was 'demon attack. Mauling.' It was like he went away when he was talking about it." She shakes her head impatiently. "I can't explain what I mean." 

"Maybe it's a post-trauma thing. I know from the visions --" his arms tighten around her, anchoring himself. "A mauling can fuck you up bad. In a lot more ways than one." 

"It was a knife scar. I'd stake my life on it." 

"You're that sure?" 

"Remember me? Girl Assassin? I did a lot of knife work for the Mayor." A wave of sadness hits her, makes her take her point farther than she has to. "Remember this?" She takes Xander's hand, places it on her belly, on the scar Buffy made. "I see this every day. I know knife scars." 

He leaves his hand there, sobered. "What do we do, then? About Wes?" 

"I don't know. It just bothers me. Maybe something'll come up while we're talking about the visions tomorrow -- well, today, technically. He said he'd try to help. Maybe we can help each other." 

* * *

The party is still going on downstairs, but Jenny's come upstairs with Dawn and Vi and Rona, who snagged a champagne bottle with a couple of inches in the bottom. Each of them holds a bathroom-size Dixie cup out for Rona to fill. 

"Think they're doing it right now?" Vi asks. 

"Oh, they're totally doing it," Rona says, the voice of authority. "It's their wedding night. But they do it all the time." 

Jenny crosses her legs, hunching over the bag of chips she brought with her. They're green, supposedly guacamole flavored. Why would anyone think this is better than actual guacamole? 

"My room's right below theirs," Rona continues. "We could go and hear 'em going at it if we want." She moans and screeches, presumably in imitation of Faith. 

"Guys --" Jenny's voice comes out sharper than she meant. She raises her head. "He's my watcher. Do you mind?" 

Rona and Vi exchange a look and a shrug, but she gets the undercurrent. They think she's a party-pooper. Rona leans over and whispers something to Vi, who squeals behind her hand. 

"They should move on top of Giles's room," Vi says. "He's old, he probably wouldn't even notice. They could use a new bed, too. _Squeeka-squeeka-squeeka_ \--" She and Rona collapse into giggles. 

"You guys are almost as bad as ballplayers," Jenny says. And her old teammates had been _trying_ to gross her out. 

"Jenny's right," Dawn says. "And he's my friend, too. Chill it a little." 

"Whatever." Rona drains her paper cup. "I'm going down for some more cake. How about you, Vi?" 

"Sure." They pick their way over Dawn's long legs. The door closes on more squealing. Jenny's glad she hasn't moved into the hacienda, though sometimes she feels a little out of the loop. Too much of this crap would seriously get on her nerves. 

Dawn listens for a moment to the footsteps in the hallway. "They're not even going downstairs. They're going to Rona's room to listen." 

"Have some of these before I make myself sick." Jenny tilts the chip bag toward Dawn. "I don't even like them." 

"Vi and Rona?" 

"Well, I meant the chips." 

Dawn takes them, starts munching. 

Jenny lies back on the floor, propping her legs up on Dawn's bed. "They both looked so wonderful, didn't you think?" 

"Vi and Rona?" 

"A.L. and Faith." Jenny giggles, suddenly taken with a riff from an old song she'd heard at the Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame. She sings it, loud and raucous, playing air guitar: "Da da da da da da _Vi and Rona_." 

Dawn shrieks. "Oh my god! We need to write some lyrics!" She tosses the chip bag aside and rummages around for a notebook, then she and Jenny huddle together to write a new set of words to fit "My Sharona." 

On second thought, Jenny thinks maybe she'd like living here fulltime. 

* * *

Maybe it's the champagne, or it could be the disgusting green chips. Or maybe it's just sleeping in a bed that's not her own, which is something Jenny's father blames for a variety of aches, moods, nightmares, etc. Sharing Dawn's bed, aware of the ticking of the alarm clock, the street light that pierces the curtains, she finds herself restless. She tries not to move around a lot so she doesn't wake Dawn, but that just makes her feel more twitchy. When she finally does drift into sleep, she falls into a dream. 

There's a black-haired girl fighting with Faith. It's daytime, though, so she can't be a vamp. A.L. walks into the backyard and watches impassively, blood running down his face. After a moment he says, "I can't stick around for this. I've gotta go." A white haired woman tugs at his arm. He turns and walks with her from the shade of a tree into bright sunlight, and bursts into flame. 

* * *

Faith's wish for their wedding night doesn't come true. They both drift off as the sky begins to lighten, and when she next emerges from the deeper waters of sleep, she can tell he's caught in a vision. 

She's only seen him in the middle of a vision once. That had been a bad one, jerking him bolt upright in bed. This time, she's not so sure. His breathing has changed, and he jerks his head restlessly away from her. Tentatively she reaches out, places her hand over his heart, fingers splayed as wide as they'll go. She wants to transmit her presence to him, in whatever dreamlife he's living at the moment. 

Skin on skin. 

She hopes that counts for something. 

* * *

When he wakes he's quiet, thoughtful, but he doesn't seem haunted. Xander draws her to him and she curls up beside him, her head on his chest. His fingers skip through her hair as he murmurs, "I had the craziest dream." 

"Tell me." 

"Dreamed I got married to a beautiful woman --" 

She swats him. "Putz." 

"That was only the first miracle. I also exchanged several friendly sentences with Angel. Like I said, it was a wild--" 

"Fuckin' paste-eater." 

"Oh, low blow. Less than 24 hours, and she's fighting dirty." 

"Once I find out what you did with the Barbie, that goes in the repertoire too. C'mon, tell me. You had a vision, didn't you?" 

"I did," he says softly. His gaze is so far in the distance she knows he's gone completely inside. 

She places her palm on his chest again, just as she had during the vision. 

"I was -- hurt," he says slowly. "I couldn't get a sense of how bad, I must've been in shock. It was night and I was lying on wet grass, and there was pain but I couldn't exactly locate it. There was a girl kneeling over me. Yelling something, but I couldn't put it together in any way that made sense." 

"Not Jenny or one of the other girls?" 

Xander shakes his head. "She was new. Black hair, lots of makeup." He touches his eye. "Serious raccoon thing going." 

"A vamp, you think?" 

"Don't know. She was pale enough." 

"You wanna make this all a little vaguer, Harris?" 

"Who you calling Harris, Harris?" 

"Hey, hands. We're havin' a serious -- _hands_ \--" 

"We've got to start acting like newlyweds, or they'll make us turn in our union cards." 

She gives in then, gives herself up to his hands and lips and the heat of his skin. Whether the visions are right or not, there's no telling how long they'll have this. Not being who they are, doing what they do. 

_Take this moment. Your first morning together as a married couple. This is here. This is now._

* * *

They get the powwow going in the library after lunch. Giles and Wes are there, and Angel, who has a pretty encyclopedic knowledge of the supernatural shit himself. 

The watchers sit on one side of the mahogany table, Faith and Xander on the other. Angel leans against one of the bookcases a safe distance from the big windows. Faith starts to rise, says "Let me get the shutters," but Angel stops her. "I'm good," he says. 

She's glad someone's good. Xander doesn't look all that hot. He's perched on the edge of the pricey wooden chair, spreading his fingers wide then pulling them into fists, then stretching them out again. His rigid posture is nothing like the boneless slouch she remembers from library sessions in the years when she first knew him. 

"Well then," Giles starts. "Let's begin. Xander, why don't you fill the others in what you told me." 

"No," Faith says abruptly. "Not here." They all look at her like she's a mental case. "Well, just look at us a minute. He's sitting here like he's about to give a deposition or something, you're all over there looking like you're ready to pounce. It's a great room for some things, but not this. We're not lawyers, we're friends trying to help each other out. Let's sit down in a room that reminds us of that." 

"Where do you suggest?" Wes asks. "The main house --" 

"Isn't the most private, I know. There's a lounge." Faith leads them to a room upstairs, scattered with chairs and a couch, with a small kitchenette in the corner. She sets up the coffeemaker while the others find seats. "Don't think I'm doing this because I'm the sole chick in the room. If this is a two-pot discussion, someone else is making the next." 

She turns back to them, immediately happier about what she sees. They've arranged themselves for conversation, not some adversarial exchange. Xander hasn't achieved bonelessness, but he's more relaxed. 

As Faith seats herself on the couch next to Xander, Giles smiles. "That was a very wise suggestion, Faith. I'd never have seen it myself." 

She laces her fingers through Xander's, and he takes a breath and says, "All right. Let's get on with it." He lays it all out for them: the original vision on the day of his non-wedding to Anya, the flashback when the Hand of Imhotep was having its way with him, and the nightly visions since his trip to California. At Giles's gentle prodding, he gives detailed, unflinching descriptions of each one. The only sign of agitation is the hand that grips hers ever tighter. 

Hard to believe she'd ever doubted his heart, even when he was a gangly boy. This is the man who'd waded into any fight as a kid, even knowing he'd likely get his ass kicked. He looks grimmer than he did back then, wading into this one. He describes every future he's lived: vamped, mauled, a widower, a father, a drunk at his best friend's funeral, a watcher whose slayer is in the ground. For that last one, he tips his head back and squeezes a few eyedrops into the artificial eye. His face is shielded by his hand, his head still tilted back, but she hears the struggle to keep his voice even as he talks about sharing another woman's bed for meaningless comfort. 

"What's the point of them?" He sits upright and rubs at his eye with the heel of his hand. "They can't all come true. If they're supposed to be warnings, they're doing a piss-poor job of letting me know how to avoid the latest Fate of the Week -- or night. Seems if I change one thing to head off something bad, I'm just as likely to wind up in some other shitty future." 

"Has any part of them come to pass?" Wes asks. 

"No. Wait, that's not true. I saw the wedding." 

"Did things happen exactly as you saw them?" 

"No. For one thing, I was still recovering from this demon mauling that never happened." Faith sees the slightest shadow pass over Wes's face at these words. Xander goes on: "But some of it was the same. Some of what Giles said, the dress Faith wore. Angel was there, but didn't walk her down the aisle. The minister was the same, but that's because I knew her in -- that other world, or whatever you'd call it. She's a chaplain at the hospital. That's how real these visions are -- I knew I'd liked her those weeks I'd spent at the hospital. They're not just isolated flashes, I feel the history of where I am." 

"You engaged her to perform the ceremony because you knew her from the vision," Wes says. 

Xander nods. 

"Your vision created the future," Angel says. "In a small way." 

Xander blinks, startled. "I guess it did. So Giles said he remembered hearing something about this kind of vision. That there've been watchers who have them. Most of the Council's histories must be confetti over London by now, or buried in Sunnydale. How do we trace these stories?" 

Giles says, "It may be that Robson --" 

"-- We don't," says Wes. "Not through the Council." 

Faith sees a flash of irritation in Giles, quickly suppressed. "Why wouldn't we?" 

"The details have been expunged from the histories," Wes says. "This is a subject I researched on my own a fair bit, in the months after I was sacked from the Council. The visions are all connected by one factor. Every single watcher who had them was considered a renegade. The fact of their existence still remains on the record -- as a warning, I suppose. But their identities and their fates are unknown -- and their diaries were burned." 

"God, what a waste," Xander says. "You could just tear out the three pages I've written on, burn those, and give the rest of the book to the next watcher." 

She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand, and he tightens his grip on hers. 

Wes rises and pours coffee into four stoneware mugs, carefully carrying them two to a hand to the coffee table. "Angel?" 

"No. Thanks, Wes." 

Wes turns back to retrieve spoons and sugar and powdered creamer. "Well, it certainly makes it more difficult to uncover the threat. We're not even certain how long these watchers were plagued by the visions before they fell from the Council's good graces." 

"What are you hinting at, Wes?" Faith asks. "You saying they all go crazy after a while?" 

"I'm merely thinking out loud, exploring." He spoons creamer and sugar into his mug. "We just don't know." 

She takes the jar from him, tips it into her own mug. "But you're using words like 'threat.' This is the Council we're talking about. Whose idea of rehabilitating me was sending out a wet works team. Who locked Buffy in a shithole with a crazy vampire, after taking away her slayer strength. Since when does anyone in this room take the Council at face value?" 

"Faith makes a valid point," Giles says. "In the absence of the actual histories, we have no way of evaluating the lore passed down by the Council." 

"What other sources are there?" Xander asks. "Who else might have reason to keep track of this stuff?" 

Angel shifts in his chair. "I'd be surprised if Wolfram & Hart hasn't taken an interest. Wes has an enormous number of texts at his disposal." 

"I don't like it," Faith says. "Not unless things get desperate." 

Xander cradles his mug in his hands. "Me either. I don't like these people mixed up in our business." 

"'These people' is us, Xander," Angel says. "Wes. Me. Other good people you haven't met. We've been fighting evil, same as you." 

"Then why are you going to work every morning at the International House of Evil?" Xander asks. "I'm not trying to jerk your chain, Angel. I want to know." 

"We -- well, we won. We backed them into a corner, and they ceded the L.A. office to us." 

Faith snorts. "I can picture that." She gestures to herself and Xander. "If we're you, and the other ninety percent of the room is the corner you've backed them into. I've met these fuckers. I've _worked_ for them. They don't give up anything they're not going to get back tenfold." 

"I haven't met them," Xander says, "but I trust Faith. They already pulled strings to get Faith out of prison, clear her record. That's enough of a debt. Let's keep them as a last resort, if that." 

"I must agree," Giles says. "Let's try every other means we can first." 

"Then we need to brainstorm, come up with persons with a possible interest in Council history," Wes says. "Or in the renegade watchers." 

"I'll check in with the coven in Britain," Giles says. 

"And we could get Willow on it," Xander suggests, "see what she can hack into." 

"There are inquiries I can make back in L.A.," Angel offers, "totally apart from Wolfram & Hart." 

They throw out a few other ideas, each volunteering to undertake some of the research. Once the ideas start drying up, Xander looks over at Angel and Wes. "Tell me about Cordy. Someone told me she had visions. Is that what put her in a coma?" 

"No," Angel studies his hands closely for a long moment. "Another fight with evil. We didn't come out so well on that one." 

"They weren't the same as yours," Wes says. "If you're wondering. Hers were sudden, unpredictable. She'd be struck with a piercing headache, assailed by images. She literally collapsed from them." 

"They took a lot of interpretation," Angel adds. "Completely different from yours." 

Xander nods. "Okay." He shrugs. "I'm sorry I can't talk to her about them anyway. Who'd have thought we'd end up with so much in common?" 

Faith rubs her hand over his back. "I think we've had enough of this for now. We need to set a time to get together with what we find out. Anything really significant, though, and phone calls are made, right?" She rises during the general assent, and Xander stands too. He's practically weaving on his feet. "I made the coffee," she adds, "so one of you guys is on cleanup." 

She and Xander do a fade. 

* * *

Jenny and the other girls are in the backyard of the middle brownstone, cleaning and polishing the weapons after a lesson. Her muscles are sore, but in a good way, a way she's missed since she stopped playing ball. Maybe Buffy or Faith will work with her more if she asks. As she wipes down her blade, she considers whether she should approach one of the slayers directly or discuss it with A.L. 

She needs to talk with him anyway, about her dream, but she hasn't seen him all day. Faith either, for that matter. This is not something she mentions to Rona or Vi. 

Rona works next to her, muttering to Vi in what's been a long litany of gripes. "Maintenance lessons, my ass. Buffy just expects us to do her work for her. Why should she clean her own weapons when she's got us?" 

"You're totally right," Jenny snaps. "Why should she clean her own weapons? You know, back when there were knights, they never took care of their weapons or horses. They had squires who did that. But they had been squires themselves, back when they were boys. That's how they learned. So Buffy and Faith are the knights of this world now. Us too, but I know _I've_ still got a lot to learn. If I'm fifty and still cleaning their weapons, I won't mind, because I'll still be learning from them." 

Rona opens her mouth to shoot back a response, then closes it. After a moment she grudgingly says, "I hadn't looked at it that way." 

Jenny backs off a little. "It hasn't been that way, not till now. Maybe --" this whole idea blooms in her head as she speaks. "Well, we aren't made to work together. There never has been a 'together' -- it's always been 'one girl in all the world.' It's not natural for us to cooperate. But it's better, if we can get it right." She feels like a dork coming out with two big speeches at once, so she shuts up. The mood's been broken, at least, and they continue working, quiet now. 

"Here comes the bridegroom," Rona says after a while. "Whoa, he looks like he's been rode hard and put away wet." 

"A.L.!" Sheathing her short sword, she hurries over to him. He does look tired, but not wedding-night tired. She'd just leave him alone if the dream hadn't scared her so much. 

He dredges up a smile. "Hey, Jenny." 

"Could I talk to you? It's kind of important." 

A.L. rubs at his left eye. Always from the outer corner toward the inner; Jenny's noticed that. She can tell the last thing he wants to do this minute is be watcherly, or have any kind of conversation. 

"I wouldn't bother you now, but it's about a dream. You said sometimes they're prophetic, and sometimes you can keep them from happening." 

"Absolutely. Good call. Feel like a game of catch?" Another smile, this one a little realer. "Winter'll be here before we know it. We should get in as many as we can." 

He likes talking things over this way, but it scares Jenny. Not that she minds chasing down his errant throws, but she's afraid she'll hurt hurt him if he misjudges a ball. She's thunked him more than once. 

"You never seem that into this," he says, leading her into the back garden of the main house. He pops into the coatroom off the kitchen for the ball and gloves he keeps there, hands her one of the fielder's gloves. "Why's that?" 

She takes a breath. "I -- you could get hurt." 

"This is good training for me. I could get hurt a lot more if something blindsides me one of these nights. I'm learning to compensate. You're learning not to throw so hard you leave stitch marks on my flesh." 

Jenny has had to learn to throttle back on the slayer strength. Most of the time now she gets it right. 

"And you're getting a lot of practice fielding bad balls. This is good, I like this." He slips on the shades he wears whenever they play catch, and starts backing away from her. "So tell me about your dream." 

"It's hardly a game of catch. It seemed real short. I was in the backyard, watching Faith fighting with this black-haired girl." _Thwap!_ Nervous as it makes her to fire a baseball at A.L., she loves the sound of horsehide hitting leather. "It was daytime, so she wasn't a vamp, I know that much. Then you came outside and said you had to go. There was blood running all down your face." _Thwap!_ "This woman with white hair was tugging at your arm, so you went. As soon as you walked out into the sunlight, you went up in flames." _Thunk!_ A solid chest shot, like rapping a watermelon with the pads of your fingers. "Oh god, A.L., I'm sorry!" 

He's got this queased-out look, the same as he had the time she mentioned dreaming him with a scar down the left side of his face. That time he'd bolted, left her family's house and fled the whole state of California. Now he stands there, absently rubbing where her throw hit him, then he slowly bends to retrieve the ball. 

"That's the whole dream," she says. 

"How did I look?" He settles back into the rhythm. _Thwack!_ "Did I seem like a vampire?" 

"No. You were you." 

"What do you remember about the white-haired woman?" 

"Her hair was really long. Straight. She was wearing some kind of flowy looking dress. Something old, or like she was in a play. Things happened pretty fast. That's about all I got before she dragged you out into the sun." 

_Thwack!_ Jenny realizes he _is_ getting better at this, learning to read moving objects, even without depth perception. His throws are still a little squirrelly, though. 

"Okay. What about the black-haired girl?" 

"Short hair, kinda choppy. Lot of makeup, really gothy -- the clothes too." 

"You said she was fighting with Faith. Sparring, or the real deal?" 

She has to lunge to reach this one, but she snags it. "I'm sorry." She fires the ball back. "I couldn't really tell." 

"Don't feel bad. I couldn't figure the deal with her either." Her throw goes high, and he sno-cones it. 

"Nice," she says of the catch. "What do you mean?" 

"I saw her too. Last night in a vision. Helps to know she's not a vamp, since it was night in mine." He fields her throw, then pounds the ball a couple of times in the pocket of his glove. "You mind describing this whole thing again? I'd like Giles and Wes to hear it too." 

Does she _mind_? That's not half what she'd do to stop something bad from happening to her watcher. 

* * *

The goth girl shows up in Faith's dreams, too. Damn tiring dream -- one of those endless chase dreams, only Faith is the pursuer, not the pursued. 

It's a wicked rugged chase, forcing her to scramble over walls, up rocky slopes, through vegetation that lashes her legs and branches that pull at her hair and whip against her face. At first the terrain feels familiar -- not exact places she knows, but it feels enough like Cleveland. Gradually the landscape changes to something utterly alien. Humidity that seems to tug at her body the way mud sucks at your shoes. Trees laden with heavy-scented blossoms. Shanties crowded together on a hillside, filled with people who abandon their own activities to chase her, uttering the word _sanguma_ as she runs past. She loses sight of the goth girl as she claws her way up the rocky hill, her lungs burning, heart about to explode. Faith makes it to the top, but everyone who's been chasing her is already there. The black-haired girl is there too, crying. She stands at the edge of a cliff, a breathtaking view of the sea behind her, and a woman -- she's white, like the girl -- tenderly brushes the hair back from her eyes. "You know we love you. We have to protect you from the _sanguma_. You'll understand later." The girl sobs. "No, mommy. Please." The woman kisses her on the forehead, then flings her off the cliff. 

Faith falls with her. 

She sits up in bed, gasping for air. Beside her Xander struggles out of sleep, sits up to enfold her in his arms. "It's all right, baby," he murmurs reflexively. "It's just a dream." 

"We've got to find her, Xander. We've got to help her. She's one of us." 

* * *

" _Sanguma_ ," Wes repeats softly. "That's rather worrisome." 

"Great," Xander moans. "That's Standard Brit Understatement for 'Oh god, we're all going to die.'" He's driving Angel and Wes to the airfield where their corporate jet waits, and Faith's tagged along to see what else she can learn. 

Wes smiles. "Sorry. I lost my head. There's nothing apocalyptic at stake here, but your slayer -- and I'm certain you're right that she is a slayer -- could be in grave danger." 

"What is this _sanguma_ thing?" Faith asks. "Some kind of demon?" 

"It's a term that's used in Papua New Guinea to refer to sorcery. There are many different shades of meaning -- this is a country with over 700 languages -- but often what's meant is some form of attack sorcery. Causing one's enemy to fall ill and die, for example." 

"So somebody's out to kill her with this magic," she says. 

"I suppose it's possible. I fear a much more likely scenario is that she'll be accused of _sanguma_ herself. This sort of accusation has been on the rise there, often in the wake of a natural death. Murders of persons suspected of _sanguma_ are becoming more frequent as well." 

"Witch hunts," Angel says. 

Wes nods. "Exactly." 

"So we need to find this girl," Xander says. "The sooner the better." 

He's so determined to protect his slayer -- even one he hasn't met yet. Faith wonders, for maybe the thousandth time, how she'd underestimated him so badly all those years ago. "You said this word narrows it down to this one place," she says. "That's good, right? Where is New Guinea, in Africa?" 

"Oceania. Just north of Australia," Wes says. "I traveled there some when I was younger. It was not an easy place to move about in even then. The climate has changed considerably, making things even trickier." 

"Then we get help," Faith says. "We've dreamed about her -- Xander, Jenny and I. She's one of ours, and we're not leavin' her in danger." 

"Agreed," Wes says, and there's such warmth in his voice that she turns to look at him, but she can't hold his gaze. _You've come a long way, Faith. Anyone can see._ "I may still have contacts there. I'll see what I can learn." 

Everything's hurried after that. Xander brings them to the corporate jet, and quick goodbyes and hugs are exchanged before the twilight becomes full day. 

They sit in the car, watching the Wolfram & Hart jet take off, its vapor trail turning pink as the sun climbs above the horizon. Faith rubs her hand over Xander's thigh. "Well, babe, you ready to take on another slayer?" 

His grunt doesn't sound like much of a yes. "We have to find her first." 

* * *

There's enough time for a shortened run once they get back, and a stop at Starbuck's. They've hit the morning rush, so there's a line. 

"Why don't we sit on the deck instead of heading back right away," Xander suggests. "These people are all grabbing theirs to go." 

Faith slips her arms around him from behind. "I could grab a little something." 

"Hey now," he yelps, but he doesn't do anything about her hand. "See something you like?" 

"There's a tasty looking muffin," she murmurs into his ear. "Behind the counter. He's new, I think." 

"Hey," he protests again. "No muffins. You're a married lady." 

"You're half right." She nibbles at Xander's ear. "He's got all that pretty silky hair, pouty lips and long dark eyelashes." 

" _I_ have eyelashes." 

Faith loves him all indignant. "That ain't all you've got." She gives his ass an appreciative squeeze just as the new barista turns to take their order. 

The kid matches Xander stammer for stammer during their transaction, and gets Xander's order wrong, reddening to the roots of his hair as he makes a few more stabs before finally calling it off right. 

When Xander brings their coffees over from the pickup counter, he says, "I didn't happen to put my eye in backward this morning, did I?" 

"He _was_ checkin' you out, wasn't he?" 

"It was more than that. He was eying the eye." He sips and makes a face. "And they still got it wrong." 

"I thought you'd gotten over the eye thing." 

"I _am_ over it. He was definitely giving it the hairy eyeball. Not to be confused with the stink-eye." 

Faith props her feet on a nearby chair. "Paranoid." 

"I know from hairy eyeballs. He was giving it." He retrieves their scone from the bag, breaking it in two and setting her half on a napkin. "What if we got Willow on it?" 

"What, you want to curse him for the hairy eyeball?" 

"Finding this girl. Some kind of locator spell." 

"Doesn't she need more for that? Like something that belongs to her? Or a lot less distance?" 

"I don't know," he admits. "She can tell us what she needs." 

"You think she's up to it? When that asshole Finch got you, and she was working so hard to find you -- well, she was looking pretty beat up by time you came back. Nosebleeds and migraines and that." 

He looks at her, surprise flashing across his face. 

Faith shrugs. "She's important to you. So I guess she is to me, too." 

"I'll ask her. And I'll make sure she's honest with me." 

* * *

"You wouldn't believe the weird," Rona says. "She made Faith look like the poster girl for normal." 

This is what Jenny gets for asking Rona and Vi about Xander's history -- what little they know. You'd think they were international experts on the subject from the way they act. They'd been ignoring her during their run on the CSU campus, and she got tired of feeling like a fifth wheel. Next time she'd just keep her mouth shut and deal. Or put on a burst of speed and leave them in the dust. 

"She used to be a demon," Vi says. "That's what I heard." 

"Her special power must have been telling people _way_ more than they wanted to know. She would actually _tell_ us about doing it with Xander." 

"I don't believe you," Jenny says flatly. 

"They did it in the kitchen one time," Vi says. "I went down for ice cream in the middle of the night, and they were going at it right on the floor." 

"Knock it off." She tells herself not to react. They're like her old teammates -- once they get a rise out of her, they never stop. But she can't help it. He's her watcher. 

"That was a spell," Rona says. "I'm sure of it. Because everyone was doing it that night. Faith and Robin Wood were going at it too, everyone in the house could hear that." 

"Willow and Kennedy kicked everyone out of their room." 

"I think they all got some, except for maybe Giles." 

"God, can you imagine Giles having sex?" 

"And Andrew. Of course, he's going to die without ever getting some." 

"Unless he and Giles --" 

Vi and Rona dissolve into shrieks, and Jenny hits her limit. She picks up her pace, surging past them. She knows they'll mindlessly follow, so she leads them through the ginkgoes, getting a good gulp of fresh air to hold until she's well past the trees herself. 

"Judas!" Rona says. "What smells like puke?" 

"Gross!" 

After Jenny stops laughing, she lets them catch up with her again. They're almost back to the hacienda when Rona says, "There's that creepy little guy again." 

"Which one?" Jenny asks. 

"The white guy," she clarifies. "See? Hanging out on the stoop over there with those guys. He's been watching the house." 

Jenny hasn't noticed him before, but she sees the intensity underneath his casual facade. 

She's going to make sure A.L. knows about this. 

* * *

Willow leans back in her chair. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong. I'll try again." She starts to gather up her scattered supplies on the dining room table. 

"No," Xander says emphatically. "Three tries is putting yourself through enough." 

"Xander, I'm _fine_." 

But even Faith can see she's not fine. She can't help wondering if the spells Willow did to find Xander in prison broke her somehow. Not that Faith's going to be the one who suggests it. 

Kennedy sets a mug in front of Willow, filled with that wicked nasty tea she takes for the magic headaches. "How do we keep ending up with Sandusky?" 

"Your guess is as good as mine," Willow says. "It takes a helluva wind to blow the atlas from Oceania to Ohio." 

"Especially since the windows are closed," Buffy says. 

"Maybe Wes's contact over there will tell us something," Xander says. 

"Who knows how long that'll take," Faith says. "I say we sift through the other clues in the dreams. There's a chance they could lead us to this girl. What about the white-haired chick that showed up in Jenny's dream with the goth slayer? Xander, did you see her in yours?" 

He shakes his head. 

"Me either, but she could be important. Jenny said she pulled you out into the sunlight and you went up in flames, right?" 

"That's how I remember it." 

"What else about her?" 

He rubs at his left temple. "Jen said she was wearing a long dress, something old-fashioned." 

"Maybe it's Willow," Kennedy suggests. 

"Me?" 

"Yeah. The moment the spell took hold, Willow's hair turned totally white." 

"It did? You never said anything," Willow says. 

"Well, things got a little hectic after that," Kennedy points out. "And next time I saw you, it was back to normal." 

"Wouldn't Jenny have said so if it was Willow?" Faith asks. 

"You know how dreams can be," Kennedy says. "Nothing's ever straightforward. And slayer dreams are even more on crack." 

Buffy asks, "Where is Jenny?" 

"Out running," Xander says. "We can check with her when she gets back." 

"There's something else it could be," Buffy offers. "When I got the scythe. The woman who gave it to me had long white hair, and wore a long toga kind of thing. She said she was the last of an ancient order. That they've been watching the watchers." 

"That's wild," Faith says. Hope surges in her for a moment. "Maybe -- shit. You told us Caleb killed her, right?" 

"Yeah." She fingers a sage bundle on the table. "When I think of all we could have learned from her...." 

"That fuck," Faith says. "I wish I could dig him up and kill him again." 

"Get in line," Xander says. "So we're out of leads?" 

The front door bangs open, a gust of cool air riding in with Jenny, Vi and Rona. Jenny approaches the group at the dining room table, while the other two head downstairs, talking and laughing, to forage. 

"Hey, Jenny," Xander says. "Can you tell us your dream again, the one about the goth girl? In fact, if we all three tell it over again, maybe we can shake something loose." 

"Sure, in a minute," Jenny says. "But I thought you should know -- there's this guy who's been hanging around watching the house. Creepy." 

Buffy and Xander both rise and head for the parlor window, where they peer out at the group across the street. 

"Which one?" Xander asks. 

"The white guy in the horrible shirt and that weird hat." 

Faith comes up behind them and checks him out too. He looks like one of those losers who hang out at the track. 

"Vi and Rona say he was out there yesterday, too." 

Jenny doesn't even get the sentence completely out of her mouth before Buffy's storming out the door and across the street. She gets a handful of shirt and hauls him to his feet, then marches him back to the hacienda. His legs can barely keep up with how fast she manhandles him up the stoop. 

Buffy hurls him into one of the dainty little chairs that came with the hacienda, and he cracks a weird smile, oddly calm. This guy's been seriously worked over by the ugly stick, and the smile just makes him homelier. 

"Slayer," he says like he's greeting an old friend. "Long time no see." 

* * *

"What are you doing here, Whistler?" Buffy snarls. 

"Can't a friend drop by to see a friend?" 

"Who is this guy?" Faith asks. 

"Not a guy," Buffy says. "He's a demon." 

Faith edges closer to the mantle with its brass candlesticks. "You want to tell me why we're not killing him?" 

"He helped me once," Buffy says reluctantly. 

"And for this you rumple the shirt." He straightens his clothes like they're from some fancy-ass English tailor instead of the 25-cent bin at Vinny's. "Not just you. I set Angel on his path, too. Before you knew him. You wouldn't want to know; he wouldn't want you to." He flicks his gaze toward Faith. "You saw, though. In your little stroll down memory lane. Desperate times." 

_How does he know about that?_

He catches Xander's eye then. "You played a part too, in that Acathla business. You've shown a little talent for the balance thing yourself." 

Xander looks as weirded-out as she feels. "Is there some current apocalypse you're here about, or are you hosting the revival of _This Is Your Life_?" 

"I'm here for the same reason as before. Things are out of whack on a cosmic scale." 

"And we're supposed to fix it?" Buffy asks. 

"Actually, you caused it. All those little sisters you made." 

"I've only got one sister, and I didn't --" 

"He means the slayers," Willow says softly. 

Whistler turns his gaze on Willow. "That was some impressive work there, Red. You threw your rock into the pond, and the ripples haven't stopped spreading yet. Found a way to impact the world without ending it." 

Willow's mouth falls open. "How does he --" 

Buffy bends over Whistler, hands gripping the arms of his chair, in his face like a TV cop. "So tell us what you're doing here. I swear to god, if you bring any harm to these girls in the name of _balance_ , you're gonna see how unbalanced your world can get." 

He leans back from the onslaught. "Hey, I'm not here to hurt anyone. I came to bring you one of your strays. The one you've been looking for." 

"What is it you're after?" Faith demands. "Money? Favors?" 

"I'm just doing a job," the demon says. "Same as everyone else here." 

Intuition tells Faith that's not precisely the truth -- but it also says his agenda might not be evil. 

"They might not have _sanguma_ in Sandusky, but that doesn't mean this kid's not in a bad place." He looks at Willow, who's dumbfounded. "That's right, Red. You haven't lost your touch." 

Faith can hear the difference in his voice. How he sounds talking about their misplaced slayer. She sees it in his eyes then, how very much this is not just a job to him. He cares about this girl, wants to save her. Demon or not, ugly or not, she wishes Whistler had been around for her when she ran off the rails. 

"Her name is Kallie," Whistler tells them. "She needs you to be quick. But more than that, she needs you to be careful." 

* * *

"I don't like it." 

"I know, babe." 

"She's my slayer. I should be the one to go." 

After the dozenth repetition of this conversation, Faith says, "I know what you need. Let's go to the Flats and kill something." 

"No," Xander says immediately. "Not there. Too many visions of bad stuff happening there." 

He's told her. Visions of herself vamped, or him, or the both of them. Of Jenny dying at his hands _(fangs)_. Not to mention that the freaky fortune teller works that neighborhood, too. "That's why you should go. It's just a place." 

"How do we know it's not the hellmouthiest part of the hellmouth?" 

Faith brings out the big guns. "Don't be such a pussy." 

* 

"I hate the Flats," Xander mutters as a pack of drunken frat boys shoulders past them. 

She hauls around to face him. "We're together. We're fine." She seizes his hand and places it over her heart, presses hers to his chest. "See? Two heartbeats. You can't let the damn dreams interfere with your life. You've said it yourself. They show so many different outcomes that there's no way of knowing which one of 'em is true -- if _any_ of them are true. We live our lives the way we want to live our lives -- _that's_ how we beat this." 

He nods. "You're right." She sees how hard he's trying to feel it deep inside. "You're right." 

She leans in for a kiss, just to remind him what they have to protect. 

"Get a room," says a smartass as a group of college boys separates to flow around them, and his buddies laugh. 

Xander flies back from her, his eyes wild with panic. " _No no no no no_. We have to go, we have to go _now_." 

"It's okay, we'll go back to the car. You're fine, babe, just breathe." 

"We have to go now." 

She takes his hand and lets him lead her _(half drag her)_ back to the car. They lock themselves inside where he sits clutching the steering wheel, trembling. "Tell me," she says. "Something set you off back there. What was it?" 

"'Get a room," he says. "In two of the visions I've had, we were kissing right there in that spot, and someone said 'Get a room.'" 

"What happened then?" 

"We went into an alley. You staked me or I staked you." 

"Just because you saw it, that doesn't mean it'll come true." 

"We're married. That came true, pretty much like I saw it." 

"It came true because we made it. We wanted it." 

His hands are still clenched around the steering wheel as he struggles to even out his breathing. Stupid idea, making him come out here. Better to suffer through him pacing and muttering about the plan to get this Kallie to the hacienda than to put him through this. 

"That stuff Whistler said to you -- what was all that about?" 

"What?" Xander's still so deep in his panic that she might as well be speaking Chinese. 

"Something about setting someone on his path." 

This time it sinks in. She can tell because his expression closes down. "Meant nothing to me." 

"So we're back to that?" Faith demands. 

The question throws him, pulls him completely from the thoughts that were haunting him. Good. That's what it was meant to do. 

"What?" 

"This bullshit where you don't tell me things. Things you don't think I can handle, don't trust me with, whatever." 

"It's not that." 

"Sure." 

"It's not. This isn't about you, it's me. Things I haven't told anyone." 

"I'm not 'anyone,' Harris. I'm your wife." 

He rubs his brow over the left eye. "Faith, you don't understand." 

"Then it _is_ me." She's almost enjoying this too much. If it weren't for the reason she's hammering away at him... 

"There's something I did. A long time ago." He's white-knuckling the wheel just as badly as in his panic over the visions. 

"Can't help you there," Faith says. "I've never done anything that keeps me awake nights." 

A flicker of a smile. "It's something that could change how people feel toward me. How you feel." 

"I've never hurt anyone or pissed them off, either." 

"I get the point." He flashes her a brief glance, then goes back to studying his hands on the wheel. "This stays between us." 

"Of course. You don't even have to say." 

Xander nods. "Back when Angelus was loose. The year before I met you. Willow found the spell to reinstate the curse and give him back his soul. We didn't have a lot of time, he was hellbent on ending the world, and he found the means to do it. That Acathla thing Whistler mentioned." 

"Go on." 

"I went to help Buffy. She was going to rescue Giles and have it out with Angelus. Willow was in the hospital after her first attempt at the spell, but she wanted to try it again. I was supposed to tell Buffy when I found her. Tell her to stall, buy some time, and maybe the spell would work." 

Faith waits for a long time before he speaks again. 

"I never told her. I had a chance, and I nearly did, but instead I said, 'Willow said kick his ass.' You know the story from there. The spell worked, but it was too late. She had to kill him to keep the world from ending. Angel spent a hundred years or so in a hell dimension because of me, and Buffy suffered her own torment, knowing she'd sent him there. That's what Whistler was talking about." 

"Do you know how many times I've tried to kill Angel?" Faith asks. "I've got you beat, hands down." 

"I didn't try. I killed him." 

" _B._ killed him." 

"She wouldn't have had to, if I'd done what I was supposed to do. I put her through that. Still to this day I wonder if she'd forgive me if she knew." He gives her another sidelong glance. "I know he's important to you, too." 

She reads the question in this statement, and rubs her hand over his leg. "You heard what the demon said. You helped put Angel on his path too. Without those years of suffering, he might not have made the choices he did. One of those choices was trying so hard to save me. Who's to say we'd be sitting here this way if you'd delivered your message. Hell, who's to say the world would even be here. I've met Angelus. If hope had created the slightest hesitation in Buffy, he'd have capitalized on it. You made your decision and you can question yourself on it a million different ways, but there's no way of telling. Like Whistler said, ripples in a pond." 

He takes her hand in his and draws it upward to press a kiss in her palm. "I can't believe how lucky I am to have you," he says, his voice roughened by emotion. "I don't deserve it." 

She says it in a rush, because it's the only way she can. "I say the same thing to myself, every morning. Now -- what do you say we head to the cemetery and kill something?" 

* * *

She normally sleeps like the dead, but she's gotten attuned to Xander's movements beside her, and somewhere in the night she surfaces to wakefulness when he bolts up in bed beside her. Quickly he slips out of bed and out of their room, closing the door softly behind him. A sliver of light appears at the crack under the door from the bathroom across the hall. Faith decides to give him a few minutes to pull himself together before she goes to him, but she drifts off, and when she awakens the light is out but he's not in bed next to her. 

Muttering a curse, she switches on the light and rises to go to Xander. She finds him down in the kitchen, hands cradled around a mug of tea. "You do have the Watcher gene," she says. He gives her confused, and she adds, "Tea as the cure-all." 

"Right." He's still lost in his thoughts, though. 

"Bad one?" 

"Yeah. About the new girl this time." 

She slips around behind him, kneading his shoulders. The muscles are so tight he gasps as she digs in. "Tell me." 

"Aren't you getting sick of this?" 

"Babe, I never had this. It's going to take a long damn time before I'm tired of it." 

He leans his head back against her body. "There wasn't much to it, yet there was a lot. Chaos. Giles and I were being hauled off in handcuffs. It was night, so all the girls weren't there, but Vi was. She was being taken off by Social Services. The new girl -- Kallie -- she was. Her family had come to take her back. She was crying, begging to stay. She'd been beaten up. Not just knocked around, but really beaten." 

"By them?" 

"No, no. It had happened on patrol. I just --" He reaches up to swipe at his left eye. "Shit. How do I keep her safe?" 

Faith presses her thumb into a knot at the base of his neck. "You do the best you can." 

"Was that what Wes did for you?" 

Her hands cease their work. "Maybe it was. Anyway. It's just another vision, that's all. No realer than any of them." 

"Maybe. I hate not going." 

"I know, babe." She knows he sees the wisdom behind it, though. To put this girl's religious nut aunt at ease, there has to be a patriarch. Show her Xander, and she'll think temptation. That's the special talent of people like that -- they see sin wherever they look. "Giles knows how to pull this off." 

"And what, I'm too dense?" He really gets to be a pain in the ass when he loses too much sleep. 

Faith pulls a chair up and sits beside him. "Your feelings are deep, Xander, but they're not hidden. They flash across your face, even if it's just for a second. It's one of the things I love about you, but it makes you a lousy person for this job." She sees the look that crosses his face, proving her point. "Not for the whole watcher gig, for crissakes. By now you should know I think this is what you were meant for. I'm talking about getting her out of that house. These people have to believe we're just like them, that their niece isn't going to get any dangerous new ideas. You're still her watcher, the second she walks through that door she's your slayer." 

"Yeah," he says, his voice full of doubt. 

"Part of this gig is letting go, learning to trust. Yourself, your slayer. Your colleagues. I know you know that; we've talked about it enough. Just consider this good practice." 

"You're right." This time he almost sounds like he means it. 

"You know I am. And you know, when I'm the fuckin' voice of reason twice in one day, it's not such a good sign. So how about shapin' up, Harris?" 

A ghost of a smile. "Yes, ma'am." 

"Good." She deposits herself on his lap, nibbles at his ear. "Now what do you say we go upstairs so I can fuck you blind?" 

That teases a grin from him. "This is your lucky night. You've already got a head start." 

* * *

All it takes is a split section of distraction, and Jenny's slammed down onto the ground, hard. " _Ow ow ow._ " 

"Sorry," Rona says. "You okay?" 

"Jenny," Faith yells. "Where's your goddamn head?" 

"Sorry." Taking the hand Rona holds out to her, she scrambles to her feet. 

"What a total bitch," Rona says under her breath. 

Jenny lets her annoyance flash on her face because she knows Rona will assume it's about Faith. 

"Take a break," Faith says. "Fifteen minutes. Not that any of you deserve it today." 

Snatching up her towel and water bottle, Jenny walks over to Faith. "I'm really sorry. You're right, I was totally distracted." 

Faith looks at her strangely, and Jenny waits. "What do you think I'm gonna do, make you run laps?" 

"If you think I should --" 

Faith's dimples come out of hiding, and Jenny would swear she's suppressing a laugh. "You are so fuckin' earnest." 

"You can be tough on me. I'm used to working hard. I'm not used to screwing up." She decides to try on a little toughness herself. "I didn't come here to dick around." 

Faith gives her a warning look. "Language." 

Jenny just doesn't get her sometimes. 

"I'm not surprised you got knocked on your ass. Your intense-face was missing, the whole session. So what's your deal?" 

Maybe Jenny shouldn't tell her. She hesitates for a moment, then goes ahead. "It's A.L. I've never seen him like this, all quiet and pacing around." 

"I know. He hates waiting on the sidelines when something big is happening. Been that way ever since I've known him." 

"You think Mr. Giles and Buffy will get her out okay?" 

"I hope so." 

Jenny does too, but her feelings are far more complex than that. Things are about to change forever -- it won't be just her and A.L. anymore. She feels selfish for wishing that didn't have to happen so soon. From Whistler's account of things, this new girl needs to be rescued. But it's a lot of pressure for A.L., with everything else he's going through. "He looks so tired all the time," she says. "Do you think they'll figure out why he's having those dreams?" 

"If anyone can, it's Giles and Angel and Wes. Listen, why don't you go find Xander and the two of you play catch. It'll give him something to do with his jitters, and you two can talk about it." 

"Okay, thanks." Faith isn't nearly the hard-ass she seems like, especially when it comes to A.L. Jenny searches through the brownstones for him, eventually finding him in the library, surrounded by boards and tools. "Oh. You're busy." 

"Just puttering. Keeping myself out of trouble. What's up?" 

"Faith thought I should find you for a game of catch. Same reason. But since you're already --" 

"No, that sounds great." He neatens his workspace. "I was kind of rushing the construction here. It's not exactly bookapalooza yet." 

"What's that going to be?" 

"A cabinet for Giles's special collection. Rare books, or dangerous ones. I should move this to a more private space to work on it. I was just now deciding I'd like to make it really nice, surprise him with it." 

"That's so cool. Let me help you move it." She helps him gather his materials. "Where to?" 

"That's a good question. Our room's way too small; Faith would kill me. I think there's a corner of the basement in the main house where I could set up a space." 

Over his protests she picks up an armload of boards. "Don't baby me, A.L. I'm a slayer, after all." She leads the way down the stairs. "The back way?" 

"That's good, yeah." They carry his stuff through the narrow hallways and down the back stairs. "That change we talked about. It's almost here. How are you doing with that?" 

Jenny has a fleeting impulse to lie to ease his mind, but he's her watcher. She's not going to insult him by holding back. "I'm nervous. Suddenly I have to share my watcher. I don't know anything about this girl. What if I don't like her? What if I do, but she doesn't like me? Stupid, I know." 

"No, it's not. They're reasonable worries. We have a chemistry. That's important to a team, and all kinds of things can change that balance." He sets down his load in a corner of the basement. "Here's good. That's another thing you could talk over with Buffy. She was the one and only Slayer when I met her, and then she drowned. In the short time before she was resuscitated, another slayer was called, and she eventually showed up in Sunnydale." 

"Faith." 

"There was a girl before her. Kendra. But both times when a sister slayer showed up, Buffy felt a twinge of jealousy. People were fascinated, you know, especially with Faith. Buffy felt left out of things for a while. So I'll tell you up front, don't hesitate to come talk to me about things. You want to get your glove?" 

"Wouldn't take any time at all to set your work area up," Jenny says. "Move this stuff over to that corner, bring that old table over here. You could use that as a workbench, couldn't you?" 

A.L. clears off the table, tests it. "It's a little wobbly, but I can fix that." 

"Let's bring it over, then." They each lift an end and shuffle awkwardly with the table between them. "To tell you the truth, I'm nervous myself," he tells her. Who knows if she'll like me, either?" 

"Come on, A.L.," she scoffs. "Who could not like you?" 

He grins. "Have you got a day or two?" 

She doesn't believe it. She points out a bent nail in the top of the table that could scar his work, retrieving his hammer to pry it free. "We should sand the whole thing down, don't you think?" 

"That's a fine idea. But I thought you were looking for a break, not slave labor." 

"I don't think it's officially slave labor if I suggest it." 

As A.L. rummages in his tools for the sandpaper, he says, "You must know a woodworker." 

"My granddad, back in Wisconsin. You can't even _think_ about starting to work unless the workbench is swept off. That was my job." 

"What kind of work does he do?" 

"His main thing is birdhouses. But not the sappy birdies-and-flowers ones. They're cool. He's got some in a few art galleries." 

"No kidding. I'd like to see some one of these days. Sounds like you miss him a lot." 

"I do. We're a lot closer now, though, so we'll probably get out there. Plus I'm not tied to baseball season. You know, you should find a tarp around here somewhere. Keep your project covered in case Mr. Giles comes down here." 

A.L. smiles. "Another good plan. I'm going to have to make you my right-hand woman." 

Relieved, Jenny returns his smile and digs in with the sandpaper. If she just makes herself indispensable, this will all be okay. 

* * *

Xander is younger than she'd thought from the dreams, around the same age as Betty's brother Daniel. His shoulders are as unbelievably broad as the streets in Cleveland, as the aisles in the supermarkets everywhere in the States. It makes him seem somehow even more American than other men Kalindi's seen here. His hand engulfs hers, feeling strangely dusty. He smells faintly of wood shavings. 

He withdraws his hand, brushes at it with the other. "Sorry. I was sanding down a table and I guess I forgot to wash up. So, you must be tired. Hungry too, I bet. Do you want to freshen up a little?" 

"Xander," Buffy chides, "she didn't _just_ get here from PNG." The affection in her voice is plain to hear. 

"From _where_?" 

"P.N.G.," Buffy says more slowly. "Papua New Guinea. Kalindi was telling me everyone over here just says New Guinea, and it's like the number one pet peeve of everyone who lives there. They say the whole thing, or PNG." 

He nods. "Nothing worse than a peeved slayer, I can attest to that. So PNG it is. And do you prefer Kallie, or Kalindi?" 

"Kalindi." She remembers her manners. "And it's nice to meet you." 

"Same here." He turns and gestures to the three grand old stone houses before them, the one with the dolphin-pool blue door in the center. "So this is it. Slayer Central -- or, as it's come to be known, the hacienda. Would you like the grand tour?" 

Xander leads her into the center one. "This is where the living quarters are, though we may have to expand as more Slayers come." 

She knows she's staring like some kind of poor relation, but she can't help it. It's the most beautiful thing she's seen. The wallpaper is so ornate, with flowers and scrolled lines, and the furniture looks like something out of a fine home from the past. 

Xander catches her gawking. "Oh. Yeah. It's a little ..." His voice trails off. "The stuff all came with the house. There hasn't been any time to change things." 

Kalindi can't even imagine what kind of opulent place he must have come from to feel embarrassment at such palatial surroundings. She bites back her exclamations, not wanting to make things even more awkward. 

"Where is everybody?" Buffy asks. 

"Dawn thought things would be a little less overwhelming if Kalindi had a little time to acclimate before the hordes descend." 

"You mean Andrew." 

Xander grins. "He's already made a cake." He casts a glance back at Kalindi. "Oops. I probably wasn't -- well, act surprised." 

Once Mr. Giles and Buffy disappear to tend to their own business, Xander takes her through the upstairs, showing her closed doors and saying names that mean nothing to her. "And Dawn's room. I'm thinking she'd be a good roommate for you while you're getting used to things." 

Kalindi nods. She'd be hard-pressed to think of worse than the ones she's had recently. 

"Jenny -- she's the other slayer I'm in charge of -- she lives with her parents at a house not far from here." 

"Her parents know what she -- is?" 

"They do. Sometimes that's the case, sometimes not." He leads her up another staircase and points at some doors. "Willow and Kennedy are there, Buffy's here, and this is where my wife and I sleep." This door he opens to her, revealing a small, spare, irregularly-shaped room overlooking the back garden. 

"Your wife -- the dark-haired one who fights with you?" 

He gets kind of a strange look on his face, and she hastens to correct herself. 

"Training, I mean." 

"Oh. Yeah. That's Faith." His expression sharpens with interest. "You dreamed about us?" 

She nods. "At first it was all disjointed and hard to understand. Then after Whistler came, he gave me dreams that were just like being there with you, only you two didn't see me. It was like I was sitting in on your lessons. That's how I learned to fight." 

"Wow. I'd like to hear more about that, about everything. It's a nice day, would you like to sit out in the garden out back?" Xander leads her outside, and they sit on a bench near a wild tangle of flowers. "I've been getting all rhapsodic about the turning leaves and the smell of fall in the air. It's my first fall, really." 

"I've only had a couple," Kalindi tells him. "When my parents were on furlough we'd go to Sandusky for a year." 

"Tell me more about the dreams." 

She starts out by describing the first of her lucid dreams, the one in which Whistler took her on a tour of Port Moresby at night, and she killed -- except she didn't -- her first vampire. "After that I started going out for real, but then I got angry with Whistler and made him go away. That's when I started watching you train with Faith." 

"Whistler seems to have a talent for piss-- uh, making people angry. What happened, why did you make him go?" 

"One night we found my friend Betty. She told me he's a demon. She was right, wasn't she?" 

"According to Buffy, yes. But he's not evil, she says. Not strictly. Or good. He's supposed to make sure there's balance between the two." 

She's quiet for a long time. Xander seems perfectly comfortable out here, but Kalindi feels herself start to shiver. 

"What was your friend Betty doing out at night?" he finally asks, in such a way that she's sure he's guessed the answer. 

"She got turned into a _pukpukman_ \-- a vampire." She hugs herself, trying to stay warm. "She grabbed me and bit me, and said she was going to turn me into one too. I almost let her, too, then Whistler called out to me and I pulled myself away." Kalindi's content to end the story there. 

"And you got away." 

She nods. 

"How?" He asks so softly she's almost not sure she really heard. 

"I put a stake in her heart," she whispers, and then the shivers overtake her. 

Xander curses softly. "You're freezing, aren't you? You should have said. I should have noticed. Let's go inside." Ushering her into the kitchen, he wraps her in an old jacket that's hanging by the door. "Do you drink coffee? Tea?" 

"Do you have any Milo?" 

"I don't even know what that is," he says. 

"It's a chocolate drink. You can have it hot." 

He rummages in the cupboards. "There's Ovaltine. Is that close?" 

"I don't know." 

"Let's find out," he says. As the milk heats up, he says, "It's a lot warmer than this, where you lived." 

Nodding, she tells him, "I was on the equator. It could get up to thirty degrees, year 'round, sometimes _klostu_ forty." 

"Ah. I will assume that's hot. I'm sorry, I should have thought of that." 

"It's okay. I've been here a while. You'd think I'd start to adjust. My aunt didn't let me go outside much, though." 

A flash of anger crosses his face, and she remembers the first dreams of him, when he still wore the eyepatch and she was a little scared of him. He busies himself pouring the hot liquid into two mugs. "Careful," he says as he hands her one. "It's hot." He sits at the table with her. "When I was your age, one of my two best friends in the world was named Jesse. Right about the time I first found out about vampires, he got caught by some. They set up a trap, using him as bait, to get to Buffy. She went, of course, it's her job. We thought we were in time, but they'd turned him." He sips from his mug, and she follows suit. It's very sweet. There's so much sadness in his eyes -- even, it seems, the false one. "He was the first vampire I ever killed." He drinks again. "Long way of saying I'm sorry about what happened to your friend. I'm sorry you had to do that." 

All at once, she finds herself struggling not to cry. Suddenly overwhelmed by everything, Kalindi says, "You know, I _am_ really tired. Do you think I could rest before everyone comes?" 

"Of course," he says, but she's sure he sees through her. He tells her she's welcome to take her Ovaltine upstairs and he grabs a small packet of biscuits for her as he accompanies her out of the kitchen. "In case you get hungry too." He shows her back to Dawn's room, where Mr. Giles has deposited her bags. "Welcome home, I guess." 

"Thanks," she says. 

But beautiful as it is, it doesn't feel any more like home than anyplace else she's been in the last few weeks. 

* * *

Everyone's trying to tone it down at dinner -- even more so than they did for Jenny's parents when she first came. Still, Kalindi sits at the end of the table looking fragile and overwhelmed. There's a word Faith can almost remember from some old book she'd read in prison -- like an _invalid_ , that's it. "Maternal Instinct" is never going to be Faith's middle name, but she feels for the kid. 

Andrew, apparently, has enough maternal instinct for the both of them. Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed one of the seats next to Kalindi, and has been dishing up food for her, leaping up to refill her water glass and fussing in general. She doesn't seem to mind, so nobody's stopped him. 

The fragility thing is misleading, though. The more Faith watches her, the more certain she is that Kalindi's just as intense as Jenny, only in a different way. She can't wait to see how that intensity plays out. One of the reasons she doesn't have much use for Vi and Rona is their total lack of that. She wonders sometimes if the Slayer Fairy hit a couple of wrong houses, because before that she'd been damn certain that was a key feature of the slayer makeup. 

Maybe it wasn't the fault of whatever forces made them potentials, though. Maybe it was them -- Buffy and Willow and all of them who'd made slayers out of potentials, forcing them like flowers. If they'd left things to fate, the two of them might never have been called. They're responsible now, all of them; they can't just recoil from the girls they don't like and leave them on their own. One of the books Faith read in prison was _Frankenstein_ , and once she'd gotten past the old fashioned language, she'd found it hard to put down. She'd been surprised how much she'd felt for the creature -- to be made and then abandoned, rejected. She identified far more with the creature's anguish and murderous rage than she had with Victor's grief and terror. _Tough shit, pal. If you think you can do better than God, there's no point making yourself a capricious and uncaring god. Been there, done that._ She wouldn't do that to any of the slayers they'd made. She sure as shit wouldn't go easy on them, but she wouldn't kick them to the curb. 

Xander, though, he wasn't going to have an easy time of it with his two girls. Poor bastard. 

He turns to her, craning his neck because she's on his left. His smile catches at her heart. "What was that little laugh about?" 

She offers him a smile in return. "Oh, nothin'." 

* * *

The conversation surrounds Kalindi like a school of bright tropical fish, quick, darting in every direction while she lumbers along like a giant sea turtle. She barely starts to follow in one direction before the next topic takes off in another. Though she answers direct questions, she's mostly content to sit back and listen, letting herself be coddled by Andrew. 

He seems to have the idea that she's fresh off the boat from PNG (and she'd bet he hasn't the faintest idea where that is). Each food he serves to her as if it's for the very first time, slowly naming each in a loud voice as if she's a deaf auntie. "These are the potatoes we call mashed." 

"For god's sake, Andrew," Mr. Giles finally splutters. "Kalindi does speak English. She's an American." 

"I knew that," he says quickly. 

"It's all right," Kalindi assures them. It's not just politeness that leads her to say so. This is the first time since the malaria that she's been fussed over in this way. The first time in ages that she's felt safe. Belatedly, she remembers her manners. "Everything tastes wonderful." 

"We kind of scrambled to pull it all together," says the tall girl with amazingly long and shiny chestnut hair. Dawn. "I think we should have an official welcome dinner that isn't mostly convenience foods." 

Xander laughs. "Right. Like the meal you all made for me and Faith. I seem to remember Tater Tots and Rice Krispy treats being two major components." 

"Hey, mister," the redhead says -- Willow. "There was a very nice salad of mixed field greens too." She reacts to a nudge from the dark-haired woman beside her. "And cheese biscuits made from scratch." 

"True enough," Xander says. "And that was, actually, one of the best meals of my whole life. Great idea, Dawn. We'll make it official. How about a few days from now, when Kalindi's had a chance to settle in?" 

There are bursts of chatter from everywhere around her, and Kalindi settles back into her chair, watching everyone. Dawn's been welcoming, which she's grateful for. Of the other new slayers, Rona's the one she liked on first sight. It has more to do, Kalindi knows, with her slight resemblance to Betty than with any actual first impression. Rona contributes a few remarks to the general conversation, but mostly she and the girl next to her exchange comments in low voices. It's too early to tell for sure, but it looks like they have a _wanlain_ of two; time will tell whether Kalindi can break in on it. 

It could be they formed such a tight little clique because they feel like outsiders. Almost everyone at the table, it seems, has known each other forever. According to Xander, he and Willow have known each other since they were six. They were in high school when they met Buffy and Dawn and Mr. Giles, and Faith has threaded through their lives off and on over the years. Though they make every effort to include Kalindi and the other new slayers, there's still a certain amount of shorthand in their speech, even in the looks that pass between them. They're a family, which is how it should be. But it's a little lonely from the outside. 

She watches the other late arrivals, trying to gauge how to find your way inside. The girl who nudged Willow -- Kalindi can't think of her name, only "cheese biscuits" -- seems to have used those elbows to make a place for herself in the group. Rona and her friend have formed their own insider's circle. Xander's other slayer, Jenny, is a little harder for her to read. She doesn't exactly seem an insider, but she and Xander have an ease between them; she's the only one who calls him A.L. Of the whole group of newcomers, she'd guess it's Andrew who feels most like an outsider. His manic attempts to please are exhausting to everyone around him -- they would be to her, if she weren't too overwhelmed to do anything but relax into his care. She's made that kind of effort to please and appease, to be good enough, and she knows it's exhausting for him, too. She feels sorry for him. 

When dinner is over, Kalindi tries to help clear the table, but Xander stops her. "Just this once, we'll let you off the hook. Why don't you go unpack, get settled in a bit. Then when it gets dark, we'll go out slaying." 

* * *

While the girls -- and Andrew, but Faith has to admit she considers him one of the girls -- are busy with kitchen and laundry chores, she steps out into the back yard. It's peaceful out here with the flowers and the trees, a good place to settle her thoughts. Strangely, though, coming out here always fuels her desire for a cigarette. That strong sense memory, she supposes, of being let out into the yard when she was in the joint. First thing you do, you fire up a cigarette. She takes a breath of crisp autumn air instead, and heads for the bench in the middle of the garden. 

Not long after she seats herself, Buffy appears in the garden. "Mind if I join you? I brought you a beer." 

"Just so happens 'I brought you a beer' is the password of the day." She accepts Buffy's offering and scoots over on the bench. "I tell you, B., I can't get over you in your Christian School Lady getup." 

"Me either. Last time I dressed like that, I was asking a banker for a loan. Except then I left off the ginormous cross." 

"So how was that? Trying to convince this religious nut that you were just like her?" 

Buffy takes a healthy slug of her beer. "Tightrope doesn't begin to describe. It was worse once I got there and saw Kalindi. How hard she had to struggle just to keep some kind of hold on herself. They wanted to strip away everything they didn't approve of. Just knowing how much was at stake -- it was almost paralyzing." 

"Bet they loved Rupert, though." 

"They believed him, I know. But I suspect they thought they'd get someone a lot more televangelist. Much as he bugged you back in the day, with all his attempts to create structure, he's never totally pulled off the authoritarian bit." 

_Back in the day._ B.'s tone is light, unaccusing, but the memory pierces her. So many missed chances back then. Not only hers -- she's done enough thinking in the joint and beyond to be past the _all my fault_ stage. She owns most of it, true, but Rupert and Wes missed some moments too. She'd responded when crazy Gwen Post had pretended to care about her, and to Mayor Wilkins' actual affection for her. 

"Weirdest damn thing happened to me today," Faith says. "Speaking of putting on a self that isn't who you are. I found myself telling Jenny to watch her language." 

"Whatever possessed you? And I do mean a literal possession -- this is the hellmouth, after all." There's a sly humor in her voice, her crooked grin, which erases any sting from her words. 

"Channeling the mayor, I guess. He was funny about things. Wanting me to stop cussing. Drink my milk. Like a dad off of TV Land, except for the wanting to become a demon and eat everyone in Sunnydale." 

"That's what he was to you? Like a dad?" 

Faith laughs sharply. "What, you thought we were fucking?" The lack of an answer serves as Buffy's answer. "Believe me, I'd have been totally immune to him if that's all it was." Just as she'd been immune to Xander's attempts to help her. "He nagged me about what I ate, got me out of that shithole of a motel. He wanted me to believe in myself, that I could be more than I dreamed possible. Shit, B., I didn't have any armor against that." 

Buffy looks away from her then, but Faith catches a glimpse of the sadness on her face. "No. I can see how you wouldn't." B. licks her thumb and rubs at a black streak on her shoe. "I guess that's one scar that never fades." 

"I thought you had an old man." 

"I did. I do. But once I left L.A. he started doing a fade from my life. He never even came when Mom died." 

"Shithead." 

"Yeah," B. says softly. 

"Buffy --" Faith draws up her courage. More than ever, she wishes she had a cigarette. "I want you to know I'm sorry for what I did to your ma." The gathering dark makes Buffy's features less distinct, and that makes it easier. "She was good to me when I came to Sunnydale. I remember spending Christmas eve with her, going out into the snow together. Even after I did what I did, when I took your body and we were standing there after the cops left, and she said to me -- to you, she thought -- that she hoped I'd get help. I'll never get a chance to say to her that I'm sorry, to tell her that it meant something to me that she didn't seem to hate me. I should have said it to you a lot sooner. I think about her. When I heard, I asked the chaplain to light a candle for her." 

"Thanks, Faith." She scratches at the label on her beer bottle with her thumbnail. "It means a lot to know people haven't forgotten her. I miss her every day." 

Faith nods. It isn't as frequent with the Mayor, but it's powerful. It's something she can't share, and no one will ever come to her and say he meant something to them. She looks up at the sky. "Moon's comin' up. What do you say we round up our baby slayers and get to killin' evil things?" 

* * *

Faith waits in the car with Kalindi while Xander talks with Jenny. God, had Faith ever worn such a serious and earnest face? Sure as hell not at that age. Maybe long before that, but probably not. The girl nods, and Xander favors her with a smile before she goes off to join Buffy and her patrol group. 

Xander settles in behind the wheel. "All set?" 

"Completely," Kalindi says. "It's so amazing to go out vampire hunting without having to sneak out." 

"So how did Whistler get you started? Did he take you to the cemetery to get the fledgelings while they're rising?" 

"No, we never did that. He just took me out. We walked around the city." 

"The bad parts of town?" he asks. 

Kalindi laughs. "The whole city is the bad part of town, after dark. There's a lot of crime. Sometimes he did take me around Paga Hill, where it's not exactly recommended to go even in the day. So anywhere we go is fine." 

"Where do you think?" Faith asks. "Around the clinic?" 

"Let's not go full tilt to the roughest part of town. We want to observe, not toss her to the wolves. Let me think." He gets so quiet that she has a good idea what he's thinking before he says, "Maybe the Flats." 

"Xander --" 

"No, it's okay, Faith. It's a good middle ground, I think." He casts a glance toward Kalindi in the back seat. "It's not that rough, as neighborhoods go. But it draws a lot of vampires. There are a lot of bars down there, so the tourists and college kids go there to get trashed. It's kind of a fish-in-a-barrel scene for vamps." 

As he drives toward the waterfront, Faith fills her in on how to make a vamp. "Fashions from two decades ago used to be a clincher back in Sunnydale, but it's a fuck of a lot harder -- sorry, heck of a lot harder -- here in Ohio. Spot a t-shirt for some ancient metal band, and seven times out of ten you've got a live body inside. Did that trick work for you in PNG?" 

Kalindi shakes her head. "Pretty much everyone in the city wears the same things. T-shirts and trousers, t-shirts and sarongs. A lot of times they were donations from overseas churches. I did see a white man in a fancy suit once who'd been turned into a vampire. Someone probably thought it was funny, since he was the sort of person who wouldn't have been on the streets in the day, much less at night." 

"People don't even go out during the day?" Xander asks. 

"Some don't. They drive their cars from one compound to another, all fenced in with razor wire." 

"How'd you learn to find your way around?" he asks. "Whistler?" 

"I already knew the city. I was a Hashman _tru_." 

"A what?" Faith asks. 

"A harrier. The Hash House Harriers?" 

Xander looks just as blank as she probably does. 

"It's like a club for runners. We ran all around the city, sometimes over really rough terrain. I used a lot of what I learned when I started slaying." 

Faith stifles a yawn. Wicked wholesome. Xander finds a space and they walk down to the bar district. Kalindi walks on ahead of them, all decked in her club girl getup. She's got a few approaches at the ready. Asking for directions to a club, asking for a light. 

"I don't like this," Xander says abruptly. "It's too early, too many people out. How are we going to keep an eye on her?" 

"We shut up and keep watching," Faith says, but she pats his ass to let him know she doesn't really mean it. 

" _Hey._ None of that." 

"So what'd you tell Jenny?" 

"That we were going out with Kalindi to evaluate her. Kind of like scouts. And that she'd probably be less nervous this first night with less of an audience. She was fine with it." 

"Smart, putting it in terms she understands. She still has that mindset. She wants coaching. Wants to work harder than anyone. Including me, for fuck's sake." 

Xander laughs. "She's gonna keep us honest. Hey -- Kalindi's got a nibble." 

She's showing an address on a scrap of paper to a tall guy who keeps moving into her personal space, and she keeps stepping back. He's sheepdogging her right into an alley. Faith and Xander angle toward its entrance without being too obvious about it. Faith practically has to tackle him to keep him from wading in to rescue Kalindi. "She's fine, babe, she's doing great," she murmurs. 

A few punches, a kick, and the vamp is dust. 

"Terrific job, Kalindi," Xander says. 

"What knocks me on my ass," Faith tells them, "is that kick. That's my kick. I taught you that, babe." 

"I saw it in my dream," Kalindi says. "The whole lesson." 

Faith hopes the training was all she was dialed in for. 

"Can I do more?" 

He seems a lot less tense now. "Have at it." 

Kalindi uses the club girl act to reel in and dust another couple of vamps. Faith starts getting itchy to kill one of her own. A bar door blows open, a gust of a song carried along on the beer-scented air. 

_Cupid, draw back your bow..._

"That's it," Xander suddenly says. "Let's pull her out." 

"What the fuck? It's early, she's doing fine." 

"It's enough for tonight." 

She would swear he's having another case of the wimwams over the visions. "Just tell me." 

"I told you. It's enough for now." He shakes her hand off his arm and starts in Kalindi's direction, but as he passes the incongruously new agey doorway of a psychic's parlor, the woman inside the storefront calls out, "Xander." 

Startled, he turns in her direction. 

"I've been hoping I'd see you again." 

"I don't have time," he says shortly. 

Faith can't figure out what happens next. The woman reaches toward him, brushing her fingers against his jacket sleeve. Xander does nothing but keep walking, yet you'd think he'd shoved her. She stumbles back into her doorway, slamming her shoulder against the doorjamb, but she doesn't seem to notice. "I have to talk to you," she murmurs, but Xander keeps walking. 

He breaks in on Kalindi and a matching goth girl who's pondering the scrap of paper. "We're done," he blurts. 

Kalindi's confused. "But I was just --" 

"We're done," he repeats, as abruptly as he'd spoken to the psychic chick. "Let's go." 

Kalindi shrugs to the other girl, then follows. 

_Yeah, Harris. Way to handle your slayer. Give her more of what she's gotten used to._

He marches past Faith as if she's a stranger. 

* * *

Well, later for _this_ shit. 

"You go," Faith calls after him. "I'll get a cab home." She was already plenty ready to start killing something before this. She stalks down the sidewalk toward the goth girl Kalindi had been working. "Fuckin' A, I know that's why _I_ got married." 

"What?" 

In response, Faith punches the stake into the girl's chest, watches her explode into dust. 

It occurs to her maybe she should talk to the psychic chick, ask her what she wanted Xander for, but she needs to kill a few things first. But by time she's left dust piles in a couple of alleyways, the storefront is closed, so she calls a cab and heads back to the hacienda. 

He's asleep by then, sprawled all over her half of the bed as well as his. In sickness and health, yeah, but that minister hadn't said anything about rampant assholism. She seizes him by an ankle and drags him over to his own side. 

He comes awake, flailing. "What the hell?" 

"You were all over my side." She yanks her clothes off, drops them to the floor. 

He says nothing for a moment. She can feel him gauging her mood. "How'd it go after we left?" 

"It went." 

"Faith, I know I pulled us out of there really abruptly, but--" 

"Later, all right?" She jerks a long t-shirt over her head. "I'm tired." She lies down, back to him, and pulls the covers over herself. 

The mattress dips as he props himself on an elbow. "Faith -- You remember when we got married, what the minister said about not going to bed angry?" 

Sure. Now it's Faith's fault. "You want someone sweet and forgiving, why don't you go to bed with her." 

He stays at there looking at her for a moment, then she feels the mattress shift as he lies down again. He always does that. Accepts a brush-off as final. So much easier than making one more effort. 

It takes her more than an hour to drop off, and she can feel Xander lying awake beside her. But finally she's sleeping hard when she's torn out of a dream by Xander thrashing and yelling. Rolling off the side of the bed, she comes up with a weapon, but there's nothing in the room with them. Heart pounding, she switches on the bedside light and takes him by the shoulder. "Baby, wake up. It's a dream, just a dream. You're fine, you're right here." 

He gasps like a swimmer saved from drowning. "Vision. Not a dream." 

"Tell me. What did you see?" 

There's no humor in his sharp laugh. "Nothing. I was completely blind." 

No wonder he's freaked. She pushes the hair back from his forehead. "You're sure you weren't just in some dark place?" 

"I was blind. There was pain. And blood and -- fluid -- running down my face." 

"It was a dream, babe. Just the PTSD." He hasn't had a nightmare like that in a while, but there were plenty of them right after Sunnydale. 

"I can tell the difference. This was a vision." 

"Doesn't mean it'll come true. You've had so many different ones --" 

He cuts in. "Look. I just can't talk about this now." He tosses aside the covers. "I'm done sleeping. I'm going downstairs." 

"You want me --" She doesn't have to finish the question. She can see he doesn't want her. 

"Faith, I want to be alone." 

He closes the door softly behind him, but it might as well be a slam. 

* * *

When Faith wakes in the morning, Xander's still not beside her. She's half tempted to head out on her run without looking for him, but she's too worried for bullshit games. Making her way down to the kitchen, she finds Kennedy, who tells her she's been hearing carpenter-like noises from the basement. 

Faith heads down, and finds him lost in his work, bent over a work table. "You up for a run, or are you gonna stick with this?" 

Startled, he lifts his head. "It's seven already?" 

"You look like shit. You haven't slept since you got up?" 

He shakes his head. "Faith -- I'm sorry. I know I keep saying I'll do better, then we go through this all over again." 

"Yeah, well. It's the one fight to have when you're havin' more than one." 

"What?" 

She waves her hand. "Nothin'. Something my ma used to say." Only she'd been reciting some old beer ad. 

He throws a tarp over his work, puts away his tools. "Let me grab a few bucks, and I'll treat you to coffee. I'd like to talk to you about this." 

He doesn't seem inclined to talk much before then. She lets him have this time sort his thoughts, not think about things, whatever the hell it is he's doing. No more than a handful of words pass between them on their run, all of them concerning their route. Even once they're in the order line at Starbucks, there's no need to discuss their order. It's always the same. 

The muffin is behind the counter again. He seems more at ease than a couple of days ago, joking with the baristas, chatting with the customers. There's some vibe he gives off that she can't quite figure. Once Xander steps to the counter, though, he's back to the stammering, barely competent wreck he was the first time they saw him. 

"He's crushin' on you," she says once they find their seats on the deck. " _That's_ what it is." 

"No way. It was you making him stammer like that. He just stared at me because he couldn't look upon your blazing beauty. Because if he stared at you that way, I'd have had to ask him to step outside and settle this like men." 

"You are so fulla shit." 

"It's been said." 

She breaks the maple scone apart and gives him half. "C'mon, babe. Talk to me." 

He talks to her. 

Tells her about the vision where they both stalked the frat boys and club girls, while some bar band played that same old song. 

Tells her about his three previous encounters with the psychic, the first time in Sunnydale. It pisses her off that she's just now hearing this old news, but she bites back a sharp remark. _Let it go. He's telling it now._

"I think maybe you should talk to her," she finally says. "Maybe she can help you sort out the visions -- aw, shit, listen to me. Tellin' you a fuckin' fortune teller might help. Still. It's probably a crock of shit, but it can't hurt to --" 

"No. She freaks me out." 

"She freaks you out because she's been right. And doesn't it freak you worse that you're seeing all these different fates without knowing which one's real?" 

"No," he says emphatically. "I plan to stay the hell away from her." 

"You didn't see her face when she touched your arm. Like she'd seen something already." 

"Standard fortune teller crap. 'I have a message from the spirits.'" 

Well, which is it, Faith wonders. This psychic knows too much or it's all a fake? She doesn't for a minute believe Xander's coming down on the fake side. He tears off small pieces of his scone so there's more scone in the crumb pile he's creating than he's actually managing to eat. 

"I think it's worth a shot." 

" _No._ " 

Time to change the subject. "How was Kalindi last night on the way home?" 

"Quiet. I think she's going to take a while to figure out." 

"You're probably right, but here's a tip for you. She might've been quiet because she thought she'd done something wrong. You hauled her out of there like you had a giant bug up your ass." This startles him. "Be Mr. Uncommunicative with me, that's one thing. I'll chew you a new one and we do a reset. But I'm guessing she's not a kid who'll challenge you. If you don't talk to her, she'll come up with her own theories, and they might get her hurt." 

"I hadn't even thought." 

"Tell me something that's news." A movement catches her eye, and she glances over to her left. The muffin has come out for his break, and he's screwing around with a fresh pack of cigs. She watches him peel off the top of the cellophane, then open the foil. There's something delicate about his movements; nothing delicate, though, about the craving for nicotine that surges through her. 

"You about done with that?" she asks Xander. 

"Almost." 

The kid moves toward them then. "Excuse me -- could I get a light?" 

Faith still carries a Bic -- never know when you might need to light a vamp on fire -- and she flicks it for him. He hovers for a moment after his smoke is lit, seeming to want to add something to his thanks. Under the table, Faith gives Xander's leg a _there's your boyfriend_ poke with her toe, and he reaches under and smacks her on the knee. 

"Well, thanks," the muffin says again, and moves off to a table. He's not watching them, but she can _feel_ him not watching them. 

"Let's blow this joint," she says. 

Xander bends the bakery paper into a U and funnels the scone pieces into his mouth. "You can't possibly expect me not to touch that line, can you?" he says, brushing the shower of crumbs off his shirt. 

"Touch whatever you want," she offers. "But you've got to catch it first." She takes a flying first step off the Starbucks deck and hits the pavement running. 

* * *

There's no communal breakfast in the morning, just come on down to the kitchen and make yourself at home. Except she's not at home. She doesn't know where anything is, and she doesn't even recognize some of the packaged stuff she eventually finds. 

She holds an imaginary conversation in her head while she rummages. _Good morning, Kallie. How'd you sleep last night?_

Since it's an imaginary dialogue, she can say how she really feels. In Pidgin, if she wants, and who's to complain? _Mi na bin slip, longpela taim. And then I had bad dreams._

She puts some water on to boil, then tries the refrigerator. Good old recognizable orange juice. She pulls that out and some milk, and as she rummages in another cupboard her heart leaps when she finds a jar of Marmite. She sets that out too, and moves on to searching for bread. Pop Tarts are all she's found by the time Andrew comes down to the kitchen. 

"Good morning, Kalindi. How'd you sleep last night?" 

"Pretty well, thanks." A lie, but it doesn't really harm anyone. Still: "It took me a while to get used to the traffic sounds." 

He bustles to the counter where she's collecting her finds. "Oh, you don't want to eat that." He seizes the jar of Marmite. "This belongs to Mr. Giles, and he gets upset if anyone gets into it. Though once you've tried it, no problem there. It's really nasty stuff." He opens the lid to offer her a sniff. It makes her hungrier. "Same deal with the Jaffa cakes -- they're off limits too. Though they actually taste pretty good. Mr. Giles is a hard one to figure out that way. Anyway, he usually keeps those in his room." 

The kettle whistles and she pours water over the teabag she'd scavenged. 

"Why don't I make you an omelet? Since it's your first morning and all." Andrew's already pulling out a pan, so she says yes. "So, your first official patrol. How was it?" 

"It was good." Kalindi's voice quavers a little, so she covers it with a yawn. "I killed three vampires." 

Andrew cracks an egg into a bowl, then fishes around in the yolk for pieces of shell. "Oh, that's really great for your first time out." 

"It wasn't my first time out," she says a little snappishly. He's being so nice to her, and she can't even keep from spilling her irritation onto him. "I mean, I've gone out patrolling plenty of times. Just not here." 

"That's what I meant," he says quickly. "It's good for any night, really. I mean, sometimes even Buffy only gets one or two." He wipes his fingers on the dish towel. 

Well, she'd thought it was good, and Xander had seemed to think so at first, but something about the way she'd been working on the other goth girl had made Xander march in and pull her away. She'd gone over it half the night, but she couldn't think what she'd done wrong. She mulls it over some more while she eats, only half listening to Andrew's chatter. When other girls start congregating in the kitchen, she's grateful to be pulled out of her thoughts, and when Buffy tells them it's time to start training, Kalindi's relieved to be pouring her energy into physical activity. 

Faith joins them a while later, quietly taking a place next to Kalindi as Buffy takes them through a set of exercises. It's like nothing Kalindi's done before, slow and studied movements that almost seem like a ballet. 

"Have you ever done tai chi before?" Faith asks her. To her questioning look, Faith adds, "This." 

"Oh. No. Is it anything like yoga?" 

"Something like that. With a little martial arts thrown in. Only I wouldn't look to use this stuff in battle unless you're planning to bore your enemy to death, because it's all pretty much like this." 

Kalindi has never done yoga, either. She knows it's become a huge craze in the States, because she's heard her aunt Meg talking about how it's Satan's trap to fool people into joining a false religion. God loves all His children, according to her aunt, yet everything in the world He made is a trap to destroy them. "I like it, though." 

"Me too," Faith answers. "It lets you slow your mind down a little, gets it out of the way." 

Maybe that's the source of her aunt's problem with this kind of thing. According to her -- and to hundreds of sermons Kalindi had heard her own father preach -- you have to keep an iron control over your mind at all times, or Satan will use any opportunity to exploit your weaknesses. 

"You're doing great picking this up. If you ever get thrown off, just watch B. Or Jenny." 

Faith moves off to start correcting some of the other girls, and Kalindi settles into the slow rhythm of these movements, enjoying the way it makes her body feel alive and whole. She hasn't even noticed Xander's entrance into the courtyard, not until he softly says her name. 

"I'd like to talk to you for a while," he says quietly. 

"Sure," she says, heart suddenly hammering. This is it, where he tells her it's not going to work out, that she has to go back to live with her aunt. Except her aunt will never let her stay there again. She wonders where they'll make her go. 

He leads her through a gate into the fence, into the garden where they'd talked the day before. "Let's head inside. How are you doing with the temperature out here today?" 

"A little chilly. I think when I move around more, it'll be better." 

He nods, holding the back door open for her. "Still, it's getting time to finish the indoor training area. This is probably the last of the good weather." Pleasant enough chat, but it doesn't mean anything. She braces for bad news as he gestures to a chair in the kitchen. "I wanted to talk to you about last night." 

"I thought so. I'm totally willing to change, just let me know what I did wrong." She hates the note of desperation that creeps into her voice. It's something she's cultivated over these last months as first her parents rejected her, then her aunt. 

"Hey, whoa." He runs a hand through his hair. "Faith warned me, but -- Kalindi, you didn't do anything wrong. You did a terrific job. I'm the one who did something stupid. When Giles gets all watcherly, he makes tea. Want some tea?" 

It looks to her like he needs to be bustling, so she says yes, please. He puts the kettle on the flame, and gets out a tea tin. "I want to apologize. I got all weird, and it had nothing to do with you." He looks a little tentative at the whole tea-making ritual, which for some reason sets her at ease. "I don't know how much, if anything, Buffy and Giles told you about the watcher thing in general, about me specifically. I get these visions. Which is not a regular watcher thing, we haven't figured out why I have them. They're not visions of the future, exactly, but of a whole lot of possible futures. All contradictory. A bunch of them were in the Flats. Maybe you remember that Faith asked if I was sure I wanted to go there. So last night I heard a snatch of a song that was in one of the visions. I wigged, and all I wanted was to get out. That's why I was so abrupt." 

The kettle whistles and he fusses with the tea things. 

"I'm relieved it wasn't me, but I'm sorry they're so upsetting. Can you stop them? Do you want to?" 

"Oh, I want to. They don't seem to have any use beyond freaking me out. The only thing I've tried just made me have more of them. Do you like this strong, or weak?" 

"Somewhere in the middle. Did --" She doesn't know if she should ask this, it seems so selfishly motivated when this is something that makes him suffer. But she can't help it. "Did you ever see me in a vision?" 

"Just one. Before we realized you were a slayer. Faith and Jenny had slayer dreams about you, too." 

"Slayer dreams?" 

He stirs the tea around in the pot, then pours her a cup through an ornate little strainer. "Milk or sugar?" 

"No thanks." 

"Do you ever have weird dreams? Lots of flashes of things that make no sense -- usually full of demons and vampires." 

Kalindi nearly spills her tea. "Yes! Right after the change happened, when I was getting over the malaria, I had lots and lots of them." 

"Sometimes they're prophetic, but you have to decipher them. Come to me if you have one, we'll try to figure out what it means." 

She blows on her tea, takes a sip. Tea isn't his strong suit. "Is that what yours are like?" 

"Not at all. They're like -- like living another life. It's completely real while it's going on. Sometimes I know some history, sometimes I don't. We need cookies, I think." He jumps up from the table and starts to rummage in the cupboard. 

Time to change the subject, she thinks. "Tomorrow's Sunday." 

"Yeah. Fig Newtons looks like it. Anything chocolaty is gone five seconds after the first crinkle of cellophane." He opens the package and sets it on the table. 

"When -- well, what time should I be ready for church?" 

Xander blinks. "Church." 

She takes a cookie just to give her nervous fingers something to do. 

"I thought Giles -- Didn't he tell you -- He did say this isn't really a religious school, right?" 

"Of course. I just -- I still thought -- well, I don't know." Maybe he's had some kind of vision about church. She can't think of any other reason why he'd look so uncomfortable. "That's okay," she says. 

"No, no," he says, a little too forcefully. "We'll find out. There's got to be churches around here. _Somebody's_ got to be playing those damn bells at the crack of dawn on Sundays. I mean -- I'll ask Giles." 

"Okay, thanks." But truthfully, she's sorry she asked. She's afraid she'll never fit in here -- or anywhere, for that matter. She finishes her cookie and washes it down with some tea. "I'd better get back to training." 

"That's probably best. Get all caught up with the others." 

He lifts his own tea mug and blows on the steaming liquid, but she could swear she catches a fleeting glimpse of relief on his face. 

* * *

"I don't get it," Xander says. "She can do whatever she wants now." 

He's invited Faith in on the routine he and Giles have developed when she wasn't watching. Toward late afternoon while the girls are training, the two of them sit down and talk through whatever's on their minds. That's how Xander describes it, but she suspects it's more often Xander mulling over things that have come up between him and his slayer -- slayers, now -- and asking Giles's advice. And just as she'd thought, there's tea. 

"Then there shouldn't be a problem," Faith says. "She wants to go to church." 

"That's just it," Xander says. "What is it, that Stockholm thing? I mean, we rescued her from those people, and she wants to go right back." 

"It's a great deal more complicated than that," Giles says. "'Those people' are not all there is to the church." 

Xander looks doubtful, but he evades the point. "But they're all she's had experience of, I'm betting on that." 

"You may well be right." 

"Okay, then. The church -- as she knows it -- fucked her up. Well, that's harsh. Let's say it tried. I don't understand why she'd even want to give it another chance." 

Giles stirs the leaves around in the teapot, releasing their fragrance into the room. "'They fuck you up, your mum and dad,'" he murmurs. "'They may not mean to, but they do.'" 

"What?" Xander asks. 

"It's Philip Larkin. From a poem I quite fancied when I was a young man with very little interest in poetry otherwise. Forgive me if this is too personal, but I know your relationship with your parents wasn't a happy one." 

"No." 

"But you loved them, as much as they would allow it. It would have meant a great deal, even after everything, to have their approval, yes?" 

Xander nods, not meeting Giles's gaze. 

"Many people who've been damaged by the church have a similarly conflicted relationship. There's still love, a wish for reconciliation. Sometimes it's even possible." 

"Anyway," Faith adds, "her beef's not with God, it's with those people, that church." Both look at her with startled expressions. "What, you think I don't know any God types? In the joint I worked in the kitchen with a woman who sang in the prison gospel choir. I learned there's a few like her who aren't fuckin' hypocrites. Learned a few other things from her, too." 

"It's an excellent point." Giles pours tea and hands her a cup, then does the same for Xander. "It's important that we support Kalindi in whatever she needs in that respect. She's faced enough change -- and rejection. She needs to feel secure again." 

"Okay. Okay. That makes sense." Xander sips at his tea. "So where's the nearest church, anyway?" 

"Honestly, Xander, that's not how you go about it. That would be like -- like -- help me out, Faith." 

"Like buyin' the first used car you walked up to on the lot. Churches got various makes and models, too. Maybe she's a Lincoln girl, maybe she goes for Kias. You ask her, you try out a few." 

"Me?" He gets a look on his face like there's a dead toad steeping in his cup. "I am so not church-guy." 

"You can break into a crypt, demon bar, vampire nest, no problem. Church you can't handle?" 

"Something of a problem, yeah. Guys with collars, even more." 

"Babe --" She reaches out to put a hand on his arm, but he jerks away, getting to his feet to stand staring out the bay window. Anger surges through her. "Here's what you don't do. You do not pull away from this girl, make her feel like she wasn't worth saving. Are you in this gig just when it's sort of fun and you have a slayer you bond with over baseball, or are you a full-time watcher who's there when it's painful for her, and even more for you? Cause if you're gonna draw back from Kalindi, you're no use to her at all, and you might as well have left her with that bitch aunt of hers." 

Well, that sure as fuck gets a reaction. Xander whips around from the window, anger sparking off him. Giles goes red and speechless. His mouth is moving, but nothing comes out. 

"You wanted my insight, well maybe you got more than you bargained for. But that girl is part of me, a piece of what I am. I owe her something. So do you. Deal." 

Giles finally finds his voice. "Faith, I --" 

Faith gets to her feet. "Sorry, Rupert. I'm talked out for now." Heading down to the basement in the next brownstone over, where the training area's half set up, she knocks the shit out of the heavy bag, until she can barely lift her arms. 

* * *

Jenny tries to relax her stranglehold on her stake. _Stay loose. Stay focused._ Not so easy to do, with everything she's got on her mind. 

A.L.'s her number one worry. That actually makes her feel a little guilty, because you'd think her dad should come first. In fact, that's the whole problem in a nutshell with her dad -- the fact that she's putting the slaying ahead of the plans she and her dad had for her life. Putting A.L. ahead of him. It's kind of true. She relates to A.L. as a coach, trusts him to do what's right for her. He actually consults her before he decides -- her dad used to do that, too, but now that he doesn't approve of what she wants... 

So she's worried about Dad, sure. He hates Cleveland and he hasn't even tried to find work here. He gets more and more short-tempered with Jenny and her mom, always on the edge of sarcasm even when he's supposedly in a good mood. So she's worried, but his major problem is he's being a jerk. 

A.L. on the other hand.... He's actually trying to deal with his problems, trying to put a good face on things. But he looks worse every morning when Jenny arrives at the hacienda. This morning it didn't look like he'd slept at all. There was weirdness over dinner, too. He and Faith looked like they'd had a fight or something. Mr. Giles was acting all tense -- tenser than usual -- too. Though why would he be reacting to something between Faith and A.L.? 

Jenny finds a fresh grave, heaped with flowers. She's developing a theory about which graves are most likely to hold a fledgling. Sudden, untimely death seems to produce the kind of outpouring of shock and grief evidenced by huge amounts of flowers. Most of the vamps she's seen tend to be on the young side. So this one seems like a likely candidate. 

A.L.'s walking on ahead with Kalindi. Jenny'll wait to see if this one rises, then catch up to them once she's dusted it. She has to admit the whole Kalindi thing is on her mind, too. Her first night out with A.L., she got to go to the Flats, while Jenny was stuck here waiting for the vamp water to boil. Okay, yeah, to be totally fair, Kalindi has racked up the time in the field. She's been going out since May, in a city that apparently makes Cleveland look like that Disney village down in Florida. By comparison, Jenny's just a rookie. 

A.L. took her out today, too. She just happened to overhear an exchange between Giles and A.L., which is how she knows where. He took her to the hospital, though as far as Jenny can see, she's fine. The most unlikely goth girl Jenny's ever seen -- her manner and her look are completely at odds -- but there's nothing visibly wrong with her. 

Jenny does a couple of neck rolls, then stretches out her triceps. A hard night of staking makes her feel it there, no question. Though she'd take a hard night of staking anytime over a hard night of standing around waiting for a bunch of flowers to wilt. This is just boring as -- 

_Holy crap._

She hears shouting, and then a man in a Budweiser shirt runs full-tilt across the lawn. She doubts he's a vamp -- people don't bury their dead in a Budweiser tee -- and he doesn't have that radar that draws him toward the living, since he doesn't even notice her. 

Before she can decide whether to trail him or keep the dead flowers company, she sees a couple more runners appear over the rise. One of them yells something like "on back," and they go belting after the Budweiser guy. 

And then there's -- 

_Oh, shit._ There must be a dozen of them. 

" _A.L.!_ " she yells, just as loud as she can. Well, if he can't hear her, he'll surely hear them as they go thundering after their prey. 

As she launches herself after them, she sees Rona and Vi closing in, flanking them from the other side. They'd been in another part of the cemetery, so this chase must've been going on for some time. Jenny yells for her watcher again, gaining some ground on the slower runners. One of them catches sight of her and slows his pace, startled. As she tackles him and brings him down, he howls in indignation, and as she raises her stake -- 

"Hey, _what the fuck?_ " 

His heart hammers under the bunched up t-shirt fabric she has in her fist. _What is this?_

"What the hell are you girls doing?" his friend demands, just before Rona takes him down. Now the runners are all veering back toward them. It's more than a dozen, maybe twenty. 

" _No no no no stop!_ " somebody is hollering. A girl. Kalindi. " _Everybody stop!_ " 

" _Freeze!_ " A.L. yells. "Everyone!" 

It's the weirdest sight. Jenny and Rona with their stakes raised in midair, a woman in the pack of runners clutching Vi like she's caught a shoplifter. 

"What the hell is going on?" demands the guy in the Bud shirt, who's looped back around to join his pursuers. "Who are you people?" 

"Could ask you the same," Rona says. 

"They're hairier," Kalindi says. Which makes no sense. A couple of them are pretty shaggy, but that's got nothing to do with anything. She speaks to the Bud guy. "You're on hash, right?" 

"Yeah." He doesn't _look_ stoned, and why would he just admit that to some girl in a graveyard? 

Vi shakes off the woman who's caught her. "What are you talking about?" 

"It's a club," Kalindi tells them. "The Hash House Harriers. He's the hare." She stabs a finger at Bud, then at the others. "They're the hounds. It's like a game, which we've royally messed up." 

"It's not that messed up," one of them says. "As long as there's still beer at the end." 

"I've never seen you before," a woman says. 

"I just moved here. I didn't even know there was a club in Cleveland." 

"Then what the hell are you people doing here?" Bud wants to know. 

"Medieval war games," Xander says. "But we were just getting the feeling this isn't the safest place in town, even before we ran into you guys. You might just want to skip ahead to the beer, as long as it's somewhere away from graveyards." 

"Works for me," one of them says. "Pink Socks and Buttcrack already took a shortcut. You know they're drinking all the good stuff." 

Jenny and Rona let their captives up, muttering apologies. 

"Do you have a name?" Bud asks Kalindi. 

"Roo. Of the Kaikai Hashmen in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea." 

As they escort the Cleveland harriers out of the cemetery, Jenny trails along behind Kalindi and A.L., who chat with Bud and a couple of others. 

"Pink Socks and Buttcrack." Vi smirks. 

"Is it me," Rona asks, "or does that girl get weirder by the minute?" 

For once, it's not just Rona. 

* * *

Faith moves through the lively streets of the Flats, stepping into the gutter to avoid a pack of drunken frat boys. Despite all the human traffic, it's been a slow night for her. Maybe she's overfished these waters. Dumb and lazy as vamps are, word gets around when a slayer thins out the population. 

She cruises by the psychic chick's storefront, but she's got a customer. A smoke-colored cat lies curled up by the plaster head with all the markings. There's some pseudoscientific name for those markings, but she can't think of it now. The cat looks at Faith as she passes. Spooky golden eyes in dark fur. 

Tamping down her frustration, she keeps patrolling. A song from a bar she passes pulls her into its smoky interior. A covers band is playing the song that wigged Xander last night. 

_Cupid, if your arrow makes her love strong for me  
I promise I will love her until eternity--_

Eternity. The two of them on the flipside, vamped out and hunting humans, reveling in each other. "It almost sounds hot," she'd had the nerve to say when Xander told her the whole vision. 

"It _was_ hot. Until all the death began." 

This is what she wants for them now. Hunting together -- on the right side of things, not as evil shells of themselves -- letting it fuel their passion for each other. Impossible, until Xander stops being haunted by this fuckin' blizzard of possible futures. 

The guy at the door pauses with his rubber stamp hovering over her hand. "Six dollar cover. You in or out?" 

"I'm goin'." She marches back toward the cramped storefront, following a trail of leaflets on the ground. They swirl like autumn leaves in the sharp lake wind, and she bends to pick one up. 

_Readings by Serafina. 99% Accurate._

She picks up her pace, but it doesn't change what she finds. The psychic's door is wide open, flyers from a fallen table lifting up in the wind to flutter off with the others. A chair is smashed, the cat's kibble dish overturned. She looks around for the smoke-colored cat, but he's nowhere in sight. 

"Aw, fuck me," she mutters. "This can't be good." 

* * *

Faith pulls her jacket close around her and runs up the stoop to the entrance of the hacienda. She leans on the doorbell, simultaneously punching in the code to the lock. 

Andrew opens the door before she gets the last digit of the code pressed. Taking in her neck and jaw and hands, he exclaims, "Faith, you're bleeding." 

"Tell me about it, Sherlock." She pushes past him. "Get the door shut." 

He does as he's told, loving the drama. "What is it, vampires?" 

"Worse." She unzips her jacket and the smoke-colored cat explodes from where she'd been cradling it. It hits the floor running and skids under the sideboard, where it stays. "Where's Giles?" 

"Kitchen, last I saw." He shudders. "Making that beans and toast thing." 

Good. There's a first aid kit down there. Heading on down, she finds him there with the remnants of his supper -- tea, he calls it -- and a book. Not the usual musty tome, just a novel. She tosses her leather jacket into a chair as he looks up. 

"Faith, you're back --" Letting the book fall from his hand, he rises. "Christ, Faith. Sit down, let me take care of this." 

She pulls her formerly white tee over her head, lowers it to her lap. "Where's the biohazard bin?" 

He takes it from her, tosses it into the kitchen trash. "What did this to you?" 

"Pissed-off kitty." 

Giles gets the first aid kit from its shelf, grabbing a pair of clean towels as well. Pulling up a chair, he says, "I'll need a more adequate description if we're to find what this thing is." 

"Exactly what I said, Rupert. Housecat, traumatized. We're gonna need some catfood and a litterbox, by the way." 

Returning to the sink, he wets a couple of cloths, one with soap, then he sits down beside her. "You brought home a cat." 

"It's temporary. I'm hoping. You know that psychic from Sunnydale that Xander's had some run-ins with?" 

Nodding, Giles says, "I suppose I needn't say, 'This is going to hurt.'" 

She draws her hair back from her neck. "Go to it." 

"What about her?" Gently as he dabs at the claw marks, she still can't suppress a gasp. 

"She's gone. Someone or something took her. There were signs of a struggle -- stuff tipped over, broken. Her cat hiding in the tiniest spot he could find. No blood, though. Almost went in to talk to her earlier tonight, but she had someone with her." 

"Do you think that was who took her?" 

"Couldn't tell you. Just looked like a regular college kid. They were sitting at a table with the cards. Did Xander tell you? She touched his arm last night, and it looked like she had some kind of flash about him. He was already freaked about something else, so he wouldn't stop to talk to her. And I didn't, because -- _fuck_. Careful." 

"Sorry, Faith." Lightly he touches a finger to the bra strap on her shoulder. "I need you to lower this just a bit." 

Hooking a finger into a shredded scrap of lace, she pulls the cup down just enough so he can clean the deep scratch on her breast. "I got three fuckin' WalMart bras, and one Wacoal, and guess which one I'm wearing when I decide to adopt the hellbeast." A tear slips down her cheek, stinging as it crosses the angry red track of a claw. She can't wipe it away without tangling limbs with Giles. "I bought this for my wedding day." 

"I'm sorry," he says again. 

"Never had nothin' nice that I got to keep." A hiccuping sob escapes her, and ain't that just the capper to a suck-ass day? "Jesus, Rupert, I'm so scared for him." 

"I know," he says softly. He touches her hand to let her know she can rearrange her bra, and goes on to tend to the many deep gashes across her belly, where she'd kept the cat longest. 

"Scared for me, too. That these visions are gonna make him crazy or tear us apart, and I can't, I just can't." After that it's just babbling, and she can't seem to stop herself, and here she is humiliating herself in front of the man she was being so righteous in front of before. 

He matches her babble with a string of reassurance. _Shhhh, shhhh, it's going to be all right_ , his words twining with hers in a meaningless rush of sound. He reaches toward her, laying his hand on the scruff of her neck, practically the one place that isn't clawed to shreds. Such strength in his hand, and it's like he transmits that to her, passes on calm and resolve. _Shhhh, Faith, it's all right._

She sits before him in her ruined bra, bleeding and weeping, and it finally filters into her head that there's nothing humiliating about this at all. He is her watcher. For the first time she feels this to be utterly true, that she is his slayer and he her watcher, and the bond which never formed between them ( _just like when she was born, taken away and bottle fed while her ma recovered from near-disastrous bleeding_ ) has somehow miraculously created itself. 

Faith mops at her face with the heel of her hand, then finds Giles pressing a handkerchief into her hand. "I'll call Wesley tonight, see what he's discovered," Giles says. "And perhaps Willow can perform a locator spell to find this Serafina." 

The throb of an engine alerts them to the return of the girls from their patrol. Giles quickly unbuttons his own shirt, exposing the plain white tee below. He removes the button-down and passes it to Faith. 

"Rupert --" 

"Shh. I'm so very proud of you, Faith. For your fierce devotion to Xander. And to Kalindi." His gaze meeting hers contains more than he's saying. She yearns to hear all of it, but she hears the door burst open upstairs and knows the barbarians will descend on the kitchen any second. 

She nods and hurries to button the shirt, then climbs the stairs to find Xander. 

* * *

" _Leave the fuckin' cat alone._ " Faith has appeared in the dining room and found them bending down by the sideboard, fussing over the cat. "He's scared shitless, and you're just makin' it worse." 

This is what Kalindi's been telling them ever since Andrew told them about the cat, but they didn't pay her any attention. Maybe it's the F-word that helps. Or maybe just that it's Faith, who expects them to do as she says. As the girls scatter, she gets a look at Faith, almost lost inside an oxford shirt that looks like it belongs to Mr. Giles. The way she's carrying herself -- 

"You're hurt." 

"I been tended to. Where's Xander?" 

"He drove Jenny home. He said to tell you and Mr. Giles he'd be right back." 

Faith scowls. "I'm beginning to think it's time we all lived in the same damn house." Kalindi hasn't had much sense of her as a worrier, but something's bothering her. Faith rouses herself. "Kalindi, would you go downstairs and get a little dish of tuna and a bowl of water? I don't know if the cat is gonna eat anything, but we should give it something in case. Andrew, rig up something to use as a litter box. We'll get the real thing tomorrow, but the last thing we need tonight is cat piss on the oriental. When Xander gets back, tell him I'm upstairs." 

It makes Kalindi ache to watch her climb the stairs, holding herself so stiffly. She's startled to see in Faith something she remembers from her Port Moresby nights after she ran Whistler off: she's not only hurt but lonely. 

"Can I bring something upstairs to you, Faith?" 

She pauses on her way up. "Yeah, that'd be nice. Ask Giles to get out a cold Sammy for me." 

She heads downstairs and relays the message. Giles rummages in the refrigerator and hands her out a beer. Oh. Sam Adams. She files this information away for future reference. 

Giles says, "She's usually hungry after she patrols. Why don't you take her some crackers and cheese as well?" He hands out the cheese to her. 

Kalindi finds a plate, a cutting board and a knife. "Oh, and she wanted some tuna for the cat." 

"Has it ventured out?" 

"No, poor thing. I don't think it's going to. I'll fix the tuna, though, as soon as I take this up to Faith." She goes for the crackers, and spots the jar of Marmite again. "Mr. Giles --" 

He's already opening a tin of tuna. "Yes, what is it?" 

"The Marmite -- do you get that around here, or do you have to send away for it?" 

"There's a specialty store here in the city that carries it. Why do you ask?" 

"Well, Andrew said it's against the rules to use yours, but I wondered if maybe I gave you some money, you could get me some next time you go." 

He gives her a smile that's really rather sweet. "It's only against the rules for philistines who slather it on toast, have one bite then bin it in disgust. If you're fond of it, you're welcome to mine, whenever you like. I'll start buying the larger size. Maybe you should come along, next time I go there. If there's any other food you're homesick for, perhaps we can stock a bit of it." 

Kalindi blinks back tears, glad she's turned to her work at the cutting board. "I'd really like that." She arranges a few crackers around the cheese slices and shows him her work. "How's this?" 

"I think if Xander comes home hungry, it'll do the two of them quite nicely." 

Her _kandere_ would have scolded her for wastefulness, but he's humorous and kind about it. 

"Fortunately," he adds, "Xander is quite frequently ravenous." 

She takes the plate in hand, and the bottle, growing slippery from condensation. Worried she'll drop one or the other if she attempts to knock, Kalindi softly calls Faith's name when she reaches her door. 

"Mr. Giles said you might be hungry, too," she says as the door opens. 

She receives gruff thanks as Faith accepts her offerings, and the door closes again. 

Kalindi recognizes this state of being, too. Sometimes kindness is far too overwhelming. 

She slips back down the stairway to prepare the bowls for the cat. 

* * *

Faith knows "be right back" is an optimistic projection when Xander's running Jenny home. They talk, they get caught up in playoff games on the radio, sometimes he goes in their house to work on her old man, who's not exactly on board with Jenny's sudden career switch. 

But still.... She's not going to relax till he's home, till she knows he's safe. There's some kind of link between him and this psychic chick, and whatever hellmouthy thing has carried her off may well have an interest in him. 

She'd spent some time in the Flats asking around, but nobody near her shop had noticed anything. Big surprise. They're all about getting drunk, chasing tail. Hell, if Faith _had_ been a vamp, she could've knocked off at least a dozen of them in alleys. Every guy she'd walked up to was convinced she couldn't live without him. 

Only one man in the world remotely fits that description. 

She sits down, picks at a piece of cheese, goes to the window and twitches the lace curtain aside. What's that stupid phrase Dawn's always telling people to say? _Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean._ Bet there's not a fisherman in the whole of New England who chants that. Ocean can turn on you just like anything else. It can smash a boat, devour everyone on board in the blink of an eye. 

That's what had happened to the boy her ma had loved. The real one, not the one she settled for, the guy who knocked her up and left. 

She hates this. Feels like clawing her skin off. Well, she's got a head start, anyway. Glancing at the brass alarm clock, she mutters, "Ten more minutes of this shit and I go out looking." 

After seven, though, she hears the low throb of an engine. It cuts off, a door slams and Faith releases a breath. 

He's home. He's safe. 

* * *

Kalindi must've passed on the message, because Xander comes straight upstairs. "I don't know when you last made it home before me. Are you all right?" 

She doesn't want to get into it yet. Just enjoy him, his buoyant mood. "Slow night. I guess the vamps are getting wise to me." 

"Lay low a week and they'll be back. It's like giving up IHOP because your doctor says you _might_ have a heart attack someday. They're just like us -- we all think we're gonna live forever." He pops a piece of cheese into his mouth. 

Good idea, him getting away from the Flats. "How was patrol?" 

"Kalindi was phenomenal." 

That's a surprise. She gave off no hint of it during their two exchanges after she'd come in. If it had been Jenny, Faith would've seen right away that she'd had a big night. Not that she's a braggart. She just bounces when she's done well. She's an athlete who revels in her physical self, in performing well. "How many did she kill?" 

"That's the thing. It's what she didn't kill." He tells her the whole story, how she'd figured that the lunatics chasing down some guy was just a club of runners like the one she'd belonged to. "Pretty close call," Xander tells her. "Jenny and Rona had taken theirs down when she called us all off." 

Faith shudders to think of either of them going through what she did. Haunts your dreams, no matter how even-keeled you normally are. 

"We escorted them out of the cemetery, and I got a chance to talk to these people. I think this could be a great thing for the girls to get into. Not joining their club -- they're a little hardcore for a bunch of underage girls. It's as much about drinking as running. Plus the fact that the slayers would run them right into the cardiac ward." He takes a cracker, a piece of cheese, a sip from her beer. "But a club of their own -- it'd be perfect. It's fun, but it involves some strategy -- laying false trails, sniffing out the real one from the fake, if you're in the pack. They'd get a real feel for the terrain around here. Remember Kalindi saying how well she'd gotten to know the city? She said tonight that she could drag her pursuers over the worst terrain she could find, wear 'em out and kill them, even the faster and tougher ones. Jenny and I were talking about this on the way back to her place, and she's already intrigued. I think she needs it, some form of physical competition. And I think it'll be great for Kalindi too." He takes another sip of her beer, and this time he doesn't relinquish it. 

Faith laughs. "Wound up much?" 

He laughs too. "I know, I know. But I was thinking about what you said. I think it'll do her good to share something she's good at. And if Jenny gets into it, they'll have something to bond over." Finally he drops onto the bed, angling to face her where she leans back against the headboard. "After you left this afternoon, Giles told me how lucky I am to have you." He raids the plate again. "I mean, having a slayer with some experience to set me straight when I'm in danger of screwing up. He's never had that, not until just recently. No watcher ever had that. Think how much stronger this makes us, Faith. Yeah, at times I wonder how I can deal with two slayers when the tradition has always been one. But then I think what I have. Giles reminded me of that." He looks down at his hand, cradling the beer bottle. "He told me how that related to the two of you. How he'd failed you. I'd never even seen that. You'd think I'd have been an expert on neglect." 

"You were seventeen." 

"I should have seen." 

She snatches her beer back. "Then I guess you'd better get in your time machine and go fix everything. Save me some room, will ya?" 

Smiling, Xander looks up. "Giles doesn't have to tell me how lucky I am, as a man, to have you." 

The sincerity's getting a little thick around here. It lodges in her throat, makes it a little hard to swallow. "Yeah. Well. You're gonna be damn lucky if you have me anytime soon." She lifts Giles's shirt and shows Xander the livid scratches, shiny with antibiotic cream. 

"Shit! Faith, what happened? Maybe you should get to the E.R. That looks bad." 

"Slayer healing, remember? In a day or two, you won't even see." 

"Did you tell Giles there's something new in the hellmouth? Fuck! I _knew_ we had it too easy, with just vamps. Except that demon attack, but that was just the Imhotep spell." 

"Giles knows." She fights back the twitch of a smile. "It's not just in Cleveland. It's here, in the house." 

" _What?_ We need weapons." 

"It's a cat, Xander." 

"What?" he repeats. 

"I rescued a cat. I was down in the Flats, and I went by the psychic's. Something happened -- she's disappeared. There was some furniture knocked over, the door was wide open." 

"You sure she hadn't just gone out in a hurry?" 

"It took a helluva long time prying that cat out of hiding. If she was comin' back, she would have. Babe, I know you don't even like thinking about her, and I get why. But this is important. You know we've got to help her." 

"Yeah. I know." It kills her how deflated he sounds, after how high he was when he walked in. "Where do we start?" 

"Giles is sorting that out. I wish we'd found out what she wanted to tell you." 

"Yeah, well. When we get that time machine back from the repair shop." 

With that, both their moods are shot to shit. They go to bed then, but they can't even spoon -- there's no place Xander can slip an arm around her that doesn't press against one of the claw marks. 

Finally she falls into an uneasy sleep. It's not a sound that awakens her an hour or so later, just a sense of something feeling different. When she finally rouses herself enough to look around, she sees Xander sitting up in bed, knees drawn up to his chest, his arms snugged around his legs. His breath sounds ragged. 

Faith puts her hand on his back. "Bad one?" 

She feels rather than sees him nod. "All dark. I was someplace that echoed, and there was flame dropping from the sky. I felt the heat and light, but I couldn't see it. I was holding a woman's hand. Not yours, I don't think. There was chanting, and everything was cracking open. It was the end of the world." Reaching around, he takes her hand. She lets him, even though the scratches on that hand sting and throb. "It was the end of the world, and I couldn't have been happier." 

* * *

"Can you remember at all what was being chanted?" 

"No." He barely lets Giles get the question out of his mouth. He's pacing around Giles's room again. His audience consists of her and Giles and Buffy this time, because Faith had insisted if there's an apocalypse, B. would be damn pissed to be left out of it. 

"Can you recall any words at all? Perhaps the repetition of a name." 

"No! Jesus, I told you. What do you want from me?" 

"He wants to help you, babe. It's why we're all here." 

Pushing his hand through his hair, he takes a breath and goes into it again. "I don't know if there were words at all. It was that deep, multitonal stuff that creeps me out. I couldn't see where I was, and I couldn't see the demon or monster or god or whatever it was, because I _couldn't fucking see_. All I know is I played a big part in bringing this thing forth to end the world, and I felt like it was the greatest fucking day in my life." 

"Thus the wig," Buffy says. 

Giles evidently agrees with B.'s diagnosis, because he offers Xander some brandy. 

"In principle, yeah, I'd love that. About a quart jar full of brandy. But in reality, every time I've tried to settle myself with alcohol, I just buy myself another vision. So thanks, but no thanks." 

"There was a woman with you, you said," Giles prompts. 

"Yeah, but that's all I can tell you. Again: couldn't fucking see." 

Giles isn't daunted. "Concentrate for a moment on the feel of her hand in yours. If she was very old or very young, you might have noticed." 

Xander closes his eyes. "Neither. Her hand was small, though. Delicate, you'd think, but she put a helluva lot of power into holding my hand. She had a lot of rings." 

"Some kind of priestess, perhaps?" 

"Or QVC's biggest customer; I wouldn't know." 

"I'll check the few books of prophecy I have," Giles says. "And I'll try reaching Wesley again. He has access to a great many prophecies. Not to mention if something this big is on the move, there's no doubt talk of it in L.A. Buffy, are you up for a visit to the local demon bars?" 

"I'm on it. Faith, you in?" 

"I think I'd hurt your chances," she admits. "Seems like I've worn out my welcome in the Flats." 

B. nods. "If I don't shake anything loose there, I may swing back to get you, but I think it's true that's our best shot." 

"It's where the elite meet to eat the drunken fratboy meat," Faith says. 

"What about me?" Xander says. "Anything I can do? I can take half those prophecy texts if you want." 

"I think the best thing would be to try to get some rest," Giles says gently. "You've had your one vision for the night; at least you know you're safe on that score." 

"Yeah, maybe so. After all, I've gotta get up bright and early tomorrow, for church. Which, if you look at it, is probably by itself one of the major signs that the world is ending." 

Giles manages a small smile then, which Faith takes as a sign of enormous relief. " _Go_ , children." 

* * *

Sunday lives up to its name, bright and clear for fall, and warmer than it's been in a couple of weeks. Xander suggested that they walk to the hospital chapel for services, and after the first couple of blocks, Kalindi feels plenty warm enough. It's a long walk, so the plan is for Faith to drive over and pick them up after the service, then the three of them will go out for pancakes. 

"I thought it would be nice to have a little bonding time," Xander had said, and gratitude had washed through her. She's been afraid he doesn't really like her much. 

"It feels a little weird," she says now, "going to church wearing these things. My _kandere_ \-- sorry, my aunt -- would die if she knew." 

"Well, hey, the minister herself said she wanted you to come as you are, so she's got no complaint, right?" 

Oh, Auntie Meg would have plenty of complaints. There weren't many churches she approved of, and the fact that Marlene -- the hospital chaplain -- accepted Kalindi would just make it clear to Meg she wasn't preaching the true word. Women, in fact, weren't supposed to preach the word at all. They could teach Sunday school to the youngest kids, or to older girls and women, but actual preaching, according to her aunt, was done only by men. 

"Besides," Xander adds, "you look very cute. Wait, I don't think you're supposed to say that to goth girls. I'm way out of practice." 

She laughs. "It shoots a hole in the vibe, my friend Claire would say. You look nice in the suit, too." It's dark, though, almost somber, but not in a way that complements the dark and somber goth ensemble she's wearing. They look like a club girl and a missionary together. 

He shrugs off the compliment. "I'm wearing it because I'm nervous, that's all. Church is not exactly my scene. Tell me about Claire. Is she a friend from back home? -- PNG, I mean." 

"No. I met her between here and there. In California. We only knew each other a little while, but she was the first person I ever met I could be myself around." Funny how she hasn't realized this until she says it just now. Much as she loved Betty, she often laughed off Kalindi's fears. She doesn't think it's the cruelty of _pukpuk_ -Betty that's tainting her memory. Kalindi just hadn't realized until she met Claire how much it meant when someone really took your troubles seriously. 

"Have you had a chance to talk to her since you got here? IM or email or whatever?" 

"No. I've been settling in, and training." 

"Make a little time when you can. Friends like that are rare. They're important." 

Why was he the first person in her life to see that? "Buffy said you were the heart. She's really right." 

Sputtering, he waves a hand dismissively. "Ah, nah. I just -- I'm stubborn about people, that's all." He jams a hand in his pants pocket, all nonchalance. His left, she notices, he keeps free in case he needs to make some sudden adjustment on his blind side. "What's Claire like?" 

"I met her one night when I snuck out on patrol. She was with a bunch of kids who hang out and smoke and talk in the park. At first I thought they might be vampires. Claire took me in right away, when the others were being kind of mean. She's sort of cool and funny and almost-tough, but really soft-hearted. She's the one who gave me the goth makeover." _Makeover._ What a bizarre word that is. Claire had called it that, and she'd seen it in magazines since she came here. If the goth clothes and makeup were supposed to create her anew, they aren't finished yet. It was the night she was wracked with fever which really remade her, in ways she still probably doesn't understand. Kalindi shakes off her thoughts, turns her attention back to the conversation. "Claire taught me this funny old song, 'I'll Be Glad When You're Dead, You Rascal You' -- do you know that one?" 

Xander laughs. "No. Maybe you can teach it to me." He talks then about his school friends -- Buffy and Willow and some people named Cordelia and Oz that he says he wishes he'd kept in touch with. Tells her a few stories about things they did, some of them about helping Buffy with the slaying, some just regular stories about things school friends do. 

By the time they find the hospital chapel, she feels a lot more at ease with him, and he seems less nervous when Marlene greets them at the chapel doors. 

The chaplain takes in her black velvet and frothy lace. "Kalindi, you look wonderful. I'm glad you decided to wear the things you like. And you --" she presents Xander with a little kiss on the cheek -- "you look as handsome as you did on your wedding day. Did Faith come too?" 

"She said to tell you she's sleeping in like a heathen, but she sends her best." 

"Well, you made it early enough to score that back pew you said you were hoping for. That's my trench coat draped over the back; just move it over." 

A family enters the chapel then, two teenagers and a man pushing a wheelchair bearing a woman in a bathrobe. Kalindi and Xander move into the back pew, sliding into the center so the man can maneuver the wheelchair into the extra-wide aisle and the family sit next in the pew next to her. 

"I really like her," Kalindi whispers to Xander. "She's so different from the preachers I've known." 

"Same here," Xander responds. "Believe me." 

"How do you know her? Was one of the girls hurt?" 

"It was me," he tells her, then amends, "well, not this me. A vision-me. And I had a vision where Faith and I married, and she was the minister. That-me and that-Faith picked her because we knew her from the weeks I'd been in the hospital, and we liked her a lot. So when real-us decided to get married, I thought of her." 

Kalindi longs to ask him what has made him so leery of churches and preachers, but the chapel's filling up, and she suspects it's not a story for a public space. They're still new to each other, too, and it's a lot more personal than _How'd you meet the minister who married you?_ Soft music has started from somewhere, so Kalindi folds her hands together and tries to settle her mind in to thinking about God. So much has happened recently, though, that it's hard to still her thoughts. Finally she gives in to her pinballing thoughts, contenting herself with thanking God for each good thing that pops up in her restless mind. 

In a few minutes Marlene starts the service. At Xander's request, they've come for the ecumenical service -- she also gives a non-denominational Christian one, and the other chaplains have services for Jewish and Moslem patients and families. It's a varied mix of people who've come, and as Marlene assured her, they're wearing everything from bathrobes to blue jeans, so Kalindi feels less ill at ease as she looks around. 

A group of kids from a local church sings for the congregation, and then Marlene starts to talk. It doesn't feel like a sermon at all. She speaks in a very conversational way, smiling often. She doesn't raise her voice or thump the pulpit, and she doesn't once raise the prospect of Hell. Kalindi feels enfolded by love, and not the sort that makes her feel she has to walk a tightrope to be worthy of it. 

Toward the end of the service, Marlene asks the congregation to rise and exchange the sign of peace. "Because some of our worshippers here are at risk from infectious disease, we do this with words only." 

Kalindi feels Xander stiffen beside her, uncertain what his part is. Turning to him, she touches his sleeve. "Peace be with you." 

"Oh. Uh, thanks. Peace be--" 

That's when all hell breaks loose. The sound of shattering glass comes from two directions, as colored shards fly from the inner chapel doors and the window to the outside. A swarm of -- what? men? demons? -- in rough robes surges into the small auditorium as Kalindi tries to find a way out of their pew that isn't blocked by other people or the pew itself. Finally she vaults the back of the wooden bench, trying to punch and kick her way toward the flagpole up by the pulpit, but she has to move through not just through the robed intruders, but the frail congregation members trying to flee. 

Marlene has grabbed the microphone stand the children had been using, ready to wield it to fend off the attackers, but they aren't headed toward the pulpit. What they want is at the back of the chapel. 

What they want, Kalindi sees as she tries to fight her way back with the flagpole, is Xander. 

Still stuck in the pew, he's hampered in fighting by his position and the lack of a weapon. The pole is much too unwieldy to toss to Xander, so all Kalindi can do is keep struggling toward them. Marlene fights her way down the other aisle, swinging her chrome weapon when she's got a clear shot. 

The intruders are unrestricted by regard for innocent bystanders or lack of weapons. Two of them manage to haul Xander over the back of the pew while the rest of them swarm over Kalindi and Marlene. Kalindi skewers two of them with the fleur-de-lis thing at the top of the flagpole, but the ones who have Xander have got him almost through the chapel doors. 

It's then that one of the others seizes a folded wheelchair and smashes it into Kalindi's face. 

Her blood's everywhere when she comes to, and there are emergency room doctors tending to her on the chapel floor. She struggles to get up. "You don't understand --" 

"Miss, you have to remain still." 

Faith comes in at a run, glass crunching under her boots, shouting some extremely un-chapel-worthy words. She looks around wildly for Xander. 

Kalindi sits up, even though the doctors try to force her back down. "Faith. This is all my fault." 

* * *

"This is all my fault," Faith says. She's pacing a worn path in Giles's rug, one already begun by Xander over the last few days. Over Giles's protests, she goes on: "Would it have fuckin' killed me to go to church with him? I knew how worked up he was over going." 

"You couldn't have known," he says firmly. "And his issues with going had nothing to do with what happened." 

Weird the details her mind picks up on in her agitation. The way Giles says "issues," for example. _Iss-yoos._ "No, but if I'd been there to support him, I'd also have been there to fight these fuckers who grabbed him. And maybe I should have known. These visions --" 

"The visions have been coming fast and furious for some time now. Why should these have prompted us to put him under guard?" 

"Because these scared him worse than the others. Because something grabbed that psychic before she could tell him whatever he needed to know." 

"Faith. Second guessing yourself isn't going to help Xander now." 

She turns from the bay window to face Giles. "Damn straight. I'm going to hit some of those demon bars, get some answers." 

"Faith, no." His voice is quiet and controlled, but he's clearly laying down the law. It's a measure of how she's changed over the years that she doesn't tell him to go fuck himself. "Buffy and Kennedy will shake loose whatever information there is to be had there. And they're less likely to have their judgment impaired by emotion. We're doing all that we can. Willow's on the locator spell, Wesley is on his way here to help us research the potential apocalypse. You'll have a part to play when the time comes, I promise you." 

"But right now I'm stuck playing the worried wife." 

"I'm afraid so, yes." 

"What time does Wes get here?" 

"Just over an hour. I'd be happy to have you come along when I pick him up, if you'd like." 

"Yeah. I'd like. Is he bringing those books? The Wolfram & Hart Big Books of Everything Evil?" She'd wanted to keep those fuckers out of this, but this morning's events have changed everything. She'd make a deal with the devil himself to get Xander back whole -- as whole as he was when he left her, at any rate. 

"Yes, he's bringing them." 

Faith turns back to the window, watching the street outside. Cleveland is a crap city for people-watching. She watches cars go by, taking in nothing. "I found that poem," she finally says. "On the internet." 

She hears the flip of a page. "What poem?" 

"The Philip Larkin." She turns from the window. "Jesus, that's bleak. That why you never had kids?" 

Giles lays his book aside. "It's far too complex to ascribe to one thing, Faith. A large part of it is the life I've led, the dangers it brings. There's also the small matter of finding the right woman." 

"You never met her." 

He removes his glasses, polishes them with his handkerchief. "I think perhaps I did. We didn't have enough time to find out." 

"Jenny. That was her name, wasn't it?" 

Giles nods. "I wish you'd met her. I think you two would have gotten along splendidly." He looks off into the middle distance, a smile teasing at his lips. "She was a spirited woman." He brings his focus back to Faith. "You look like her. Just a bit." 

Something goes very still inside her, and almost cold. Is this the answer she'd searched for within herself all that time in prison? Why Giles had seemed so warm to her at first, and then retreated, tipping from sternness to half-hearted attention and back? Nothing to do with her at all, just a superficial resemblance to his dead lover, a similarity in spirit. Just enough to trigger a self-protective coolness that she'd taken as rejection. 

_They fuck you up_ , she thinks. _They may not mean to, but they do._

She steps away from the window. "Give me a yell when you're ready to leave for the air field. I think I'll go check on Kalindi." 

Faith can tell he's noticed her shift in mood, but she slips out of his room before he can question her. 

She treads quietly down the hallway, carefully turning the knob to Dawn's door. Drugged up on pain pills, Kalindi's curled up on the other bed, a weird-looking stuffed animal tucked under her chin. For a long moment, Faith watches the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Then she turns away, palming a tear from her own cheek, and silently closes the door behind her. 

* * *

Faith's pretty sure Giles isn't fooled when she suggests he stick around the hacienda in case Buffy or Kennedy calls with news, but he humors her. By the time she drives out to the airfield, a pissing rain has started up, making the night cold and miserable. Nice accompaniment to her mood. 

She thinks about the difference between Giles and Wes as she drives. Giles's indifference had wounded her, made her feel unimportant, while Wes never affected her as deeply. Even back then, she could smell it on him, his fear of failure, his desperation to show who was on top. Another victim of Mum and Dad, she supposes. 

Why had she gone so far with him, felt the need to torture him? Another question she'd kicked around in prison until her head spun. Because of his complete dismissal of her, in part. His haughtiness. Long before he'd called her a piece of shit, she'd known that was how he saw her. She'd wanted to shove it right back in his face. 

They'd been through a lot since then. He'd used her without a second thought to get Angel back when he'd lost his soul again, but she'd have been as ruthless to save Angel. Things between them had really shifted that day when Wes and Giles had undone the Hand of Imhotep spell and reversed the body switch. Before the ritual, she'd had that long talk with Wes. Faith feels all right with him now, which is miraculous when you consider their history. She wonders if things will ever feel that simple with Giles. 

The rain keeps coming, and when Wes arrives, he's soaked to the skin in the time it takes to walk from the corporate jet to the car. 

Faith reaches for his leather satchel, not liking the grim, angry set of his expression. "That's not the happy-news face," she says, steeling herself. 

"No. Faith, I'm sorry. The books -- apparently there's a range, a maximum distance from the home library, and beyond that -- the texts have all faded back to blank white pages." 

She tosses his bag into the back seat. "Cocksuckers," she spits. "It's a joke a minute at Wolfram & Hart, ain't it?" 

"Yes, I'm afraid so." He gently touches her elbow as she turns back, and she takes that as an invitation, moving into his arms for a brief embrace. "We'll get him back," he murmurs into her hair. "I promise you that." 

"How about an IHOP stop?" she asks when she steps back. "I don't think I can stand the hacienda right now. Andrew's so freaked out, it's like the second coming of Martha Stewart." 

He seems dubious, but he says yes, a hot breakfast would do him some good. And buckets of tea. 

Faith takes the hint and grabs a towel from the back of the car, and Wes manages to dry off a little. "What's this, your third visit? And we haven't even gotten you to the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame." 

"Somehow I'll survive." 

Flipping open her cell, Faith calls Giles and tells him they're taking a detour, extracts a promise to call if there's any news. 

Once they've installed themselves in a corner booth at the IHOP, Wes reaches into the satchel and brings out a sheaf of papers. "Since time is of the essence, I started working on the texts on the ride out to the airport, and kept it up during the flight. I did manage to take quite a few notes before the texts were lost again." 

Relief shudders through her. "Better news than I thought, then. So what's the latest apocalypse?" 

"Well, in the absence of any detail in these visions to narrow things down, we have enough doomsday cults to keep us busy until, well, doomsday. I have made some notes on some of the groups known to be located near the Cleveland hellmouth. I believe our best use of time -- thank you," he says as the waitress sets his short stack and pot of tea before him -- "would be to cover that ground in Giles's presence." 

She nods, but something in her won't give it up. "Any especially good suspects?" 

"None that are especially apparent to me, but perhaps Giles will make some associations that escape me. I have made a little more headway in another direction, however. I've found some very old texts that touch upon the disgraced watchers -- in the vaguest of terms." 

Though she's ordered the hugest breakfast on the menu, she finds herself crumbling her _make sure it's crispy, dammit_ bacon between nervous fingers, unable to eat. "Wes, I don't mean to rain on your parade, but with Xander kidnapped by who knows what brand of apocalyptic maniacs, that part's seeming highly theoretical." 

"I understand, Faith. But I for all we know, any detail could be relevant, even crucial." 

She nods again. "Sure. I get that." 

"The white-haired woman who appeared in Jenny's dream. I believe she represents an ancient order of women --" 

"The Guardians, yeah." The look on his face is priceless, even in her unnerved state. "The whole _We watch the watchers, but they already took the name_ thing. I've heard of 'em." 

He nearly chokes on his tea. "How?" 

"Buffy met one. Before Sunnydale slowly sank into the west. She gave B. that scythe, the one we used in the big fight against the uber-uglies." 

"That's astonishing. According to the sources I could find, the Guardians were thought to have died out." 

"Well, they have now. B. barely had a chance to talk to this one when Caleb killed her." 

"Caleb. The First's lieutenant." 

"The miserable little fuck who took Xander's eye." She takes a forkful of pancakes, already growing cold. "So what's the connection with Xander and these Guardian chicks?" 

"The watchers who were plagued with these visions -- I've found hints that they formed alliances with counterparts among the Guardians. In every case they went underground, vanishing completely, with only rumors marking their passage. I haven't been able to uncover whether they were welcomed into the ranks of the Guardians, or whether the watcher's counterpart was expelled from her society as well." 

"What does that mean to Xander, if this ancient line of chicks has disappeared? The one Buffy met told her she was the last survivor, and had been for a long time." 

"I don't know. Has Xander himself dreamed of the white-haired woman, or had any other strange encounters?" 

Of course. She's such an idiot. "There's this psychic. She has a storefront down near the lake, where all the college kids hang out. He's had a couple of run-ins with her, and the other night she touched his arm as he walked past her store. It rocked her back, and she said she had to tell him something. He wouldn't talk to her, though. She freaks him out." 

"What sort of run-ins?" 

"Well, the first one was back in Sunnydale. She had a shop there, and he and a friend went in for a reading, just for a laugh. This was years ago, even before he met Buffy. He said she saw all kinds of things, but he didn't realize it until just recently. She saw him with Buffy, saw him in Cleveland -- and he's convinced she saw the death of his friend, the one he had to stake. It all sounded like bullshit when she said this stuff, but looking back, he realizes she was the real deal. The next time he saw her, after the visions started, she recognized that he has some kind of sight. He took off after she said it. He wants nothing to do with her." 

Wes sits back in the booth, lost in thought. "I wonder --" 

"What?" 

He turns his gaze back on her. "I wonder if the Guardian line has jumped to a new beginning. The same way the Slayer line has opened up, and the Watchers. They're all inextricably bound together -- perhaps the magic that affected the Slayer line has transformed them all." 

* * *

Homer Simpson is dancing on the Isotopes' dugout. This is one of Jenny's favorite episodes, but she doesn't laugh. She lies curled on the couch with her ratty stuffed Grimmy clutched against her chest. 

"I should have gone." Her Mom and Dad know what she means, since she's said this a few hundred times already today. A.L. had put up a sign about the chapel service on the fridge at the hacienda where all kinds of announcements were posted, and she'd dismissed the possibility of going without a second thought. Her church had always been the backyard with her dad, the zen of fielding drills and batting practice. She didn't quite understand the zen thing; it was something her dad said. But it's their ritual, even now after so much has changed, and that's where they'd been this morning when everything happened. 

"Honey, you couldn't have known." Her mother's said this a few hundred times, too. 

"I know, but it would have been a nice thing to do for Kalindi. And then I would've been there." 

Her dad grabs the remote, flicks off the DVD. "I'm glad you weren't there. You're not his protector. One of these days you could get seriously hurt, and everything you've worked for will be gone." 

"I'm working for something else now." This one they've had a _million_ times. Jenny doesn't have the energy for it tonight. She uncurls herself and then stands. "I think I'm gonna go to bed." 

They both kiss her and tell her A.L. will be found and brought home safe. 

The dream tells her otherwise. 

It takes her forever to fall asleep, but once she does, the Slayer-dream is waiting. She finds herself in a place that consists of nothing but sound. Music she doesn't recognize fills the darkness, so loud that she feels it against her skin, inside her bones. 

She feels it throbbing in her groin. 

It makes her think of the times when she sits too long in front of one of the whirlpool jets, the pulsing of the water against her lower back feeling pleasurable, and then without warning it's too much, a sensation on the edge of pain. Only here she can't shift away from it. She stands in the blackness, battered by the sound. 

"Jenny." A.L.'s voice is quiet, yet she can hear it over the music. "I'm so glad you could come." 

She whirls toward the voice, and even though the darkness is still complete, she can see him. He's smiling at her, even though there's blood running from both his eyes, like Oedipus in that cheesy old movie they made her watch in lit class. 

"Oh god, A.L.," she whispers. 

He waves a hand. "Nothing to it," he says cheerfully. "Once you get used to it." 

* * *

There's a giant diamond by the water. Somehow Kalindi knows that the plaza around it usually bustles with people, but today it's curiously deserted. She walks into the diamond's interior, and on the stone floor she finds another diamond, an earring on a post. She picks it up and twirls it between her finger and thumb. 

Her aunt would hate this place, would call it a temple dedicated to everything that threatens this country. Dark rhythms pulse around her, and as she moves forward she walks through different songs, like walking through the heavy scents of different blossoms in the garden of her home in Port Moresby. She finds the rhythms as intoxicating as those fragrant curls of humid air. She breathes them in, even though they frighten her a little. 

She keeps moving deeper into the heart of the diamond, looking for the matakiau. There are strange relics on display behind glass, but she pays them little heed. 

She comes at last to a dark room where the sound is deeper than deep. Hanging from the ceiling is the _bikpela mun_ made of silver she remembers seeing in her first dream of the matakiau, the one where he shivered with fever. 

At the same moment she thinks of him, he appears beneath the silver moon. "What are you doing here?" he asks. 

"I came to find you," Kalindi says, in unison with a boy across the room whom she hadn't seen until now. It's him the matakiau was challenging, not her. 

The boy says, "I also came looking for that." He points to Kalindi's hand, the tiny diamond between her fingers. "That's mine as much as it is yours. See?" He points to a tiny hole in his earlobe. 

"I don't see how that can be," the matakiau says, but there's no force behind the words, just idle curiosity. 

"Don't ask me," the boy says. "I don't make the rules." 

Just then a noise from outside the room overwhelms even the pulsing sound within. It's alien and terrible, causing Kalindi and the boy to fall to their knees. 

The matakiau smiles. "The god's coming. This should be good." 

* * *

Andrew brings bundt cake to Giles's room unasked. Faith can smell it on him, the desire to be included, but it wouldn't take very much to make her kill him. She relieves him of the tray with a gruff thank-you and kicks the door shut behind him. 

She's not hungry, but she cuts herself a giant slice, then passes a piece to Wes and to Giles. There's already tea. 

Giles is on his second read-through of the notes Wes took from the Incredible Vanishing Texts. Everything seems potentially possible; nothing rings a bell. This makes her feel like going out to find Andrew and kill him, then come back. It's not his fault. Doesn't much matter -- he's the most expendable, and she feels like killing something. 

"What about this woman, the psychic Faith told me about?" Quickly Wes fills Giles in on the vague references he's found in his research on the disgraced watchers. "Suppose she is connected to the Guardian line somehow. Perhaps she could point us in one direction or the other. It's more than we have now." 

"That'd be great," Faith says, "except she's been snatched too. No telling if it's the same bunch, since all I saw was the aftermath, but I'm thinkin' what are the odds of some other bunch of kidnappers striking within 24 hours?" 

Wes sits back in his chair, lets his fork clatter onto his plate. "Christ," he whispers. "This may provide us with our answer." 

"Well, hot damn. About time something went right." 

But Wes doesn't look so jubilant. "Actually, Faith, I very much hope that I'm wrong." 

* * *

"Don't tell me," Faith says. "There's a prophecy." 

"There's no way to be certain it pertains here, but I believe it may." 

"How come there are no fuckin' prophecies that say, 'And lo, they went to the Fourth of July picnic, where they ate of the hot dogs and banana cream pie, and unto them who won the three-legged race'--" She hasn't even been married to Harris that long, and she's beginning to sound like him. Except if he'd said this, it would have been funny, and not nearly so clumsily worded, and his throat probably wouldn't be too tight to go on. 

Wes nods, all sympathy. "It's the nature of the beast, I'm afraid." 

"There's a beast?" 

"No, no. Just an expression. There's a prophecy regarding one of the ancient gods. The god itself manifests as two beings, male and female. But only one of them is meant to survive. One must consume the other, incorporating both aspects of the god into the one." 

"So what's this have to do with Xander? Why did you go all pale when I said this psychic chick was missing too?" 

"The rite that brings forth the god -- it requires two seers, one male, one female. Together they determine which is the true form of the god." 

"And this rite -- is it true what Xander saw in the vision? That bringing this god into the world causes the apocalypse?" 

"Oh, for the love of God," Giles says. "You aren't seriously bringing the Parthi Codex into this." 

"Why not? We're discovering that just because the Council discredits something, doesn't mean it's worthless." 

"Okay," Faith commands, "stop and explain to the one person in the room who wasn't a member of the Council what you're talking about." 

"The Parthi Codex is an ancient scroll of prophecies," Giles says, "thought to be irrelevant if not fake. The academy taught its content not in classes related to prophecies, but in ancient language classes, probably to alleviate the boredom of reading inventory lists and domestic accounts and the like." He levels a look at Wes. "You can't be taking this seriously." 

"I've heard of fortune telling by tea leaves and chicken entrails," Faith interjects, "but reading Kotex is a little beyond the beyond." 

Well, that gets a response. Wes looks thoroughly revolted. Giles, however, shoots her exactly the same kind of look he'd be giving Xander in the same circumstances. She favors him with a brief grin before she turns serious once more. "Can we get our hands on a copy of this thing?" 

"I can easily access it using the templates," Wes says, "but I'd have to be in range." 

"Let's save that for the moment," she says. "We need you here, not in L.A. What about Robin? Think he can find a copy? If the Council was using this for a schoolbook, shouldn't there be all kinds of copies lying around?" 

"Resources were never taken off the premises," Wes says. "When the Council headquarters were destroyed, all copies would have gone too." 

"I'm not certain this isn't an elaborate wild goose chase," Giles says gently. 

"Do we have anything else that remotely seems possible?" Faith asks. 

"With the limited resources at hand, no," Giles says. "I can do some asking around. Perhaps Willow can find some leads online." 

"Think there could even be some parts of the Codex out there on the 'net?" Faith asks. 

"It's possible." 

"Then this is what we do," Faith says. "Giles, you look into other possibilities. Wes, you look for the Codex, whatever way you can. And me -- hell, I guess I'll go to bed. I can always hope for a Slayer dream." 

* * *

"I'm not the guy you want," Xander says. 

They're in her room at that crappy hot sheets motel in Sunnydale, Faith straddled atop him. 

She grinds against his crotch, and she can feel his reaction. "You're the guy who's here." She brushes her fingers over his throat, causing him to flinch. "You won't feel anything, I promise." 

"But listen, Faith, I'm unreliable. As a seer, I suck. I'm not the guy for you." 

Her hand drifts upward, to his right cheek. "Of course the visions aren't reliable. You're not finished yet." 

"Finished --" 

Faith smiles. He doesn't understand this yet, but she'll show him, make him what he was destined to be. "The En-Igi must be blind to this world to receive the full sight. It's the way of these things." She gestures toward the rickety nightstand, which has become a marble altar spread with a fine cloth the color of the night sky. There are ointments and gleaming instruments to be used in his becoming, and a dish of mushrooms. She dips one of the mushrooms into a cup of spiced wine and touches it to his lips. 

"No, I don't want --" 

She pops the mushroom past his teeth. "Shhh. You don't know yet what you want." 

She grinds against him again, and it becomes clear that a part of him definitely knows what it wants. 

* * *

Only twenty minutes into training, and Faith's got two of the baby slayers in tears, and a third is quivering on the edge. Their concentration is for shit this morning, but hers is no better. 

They'd all turned the breakfast table into the war room of slayer dreams, each girl describing as completely as she could the dream images that assailed her. All except Faith, who'd saved hers for Wes, Giles and Buffy only. 

Fucking useless, these dreams. The heart of a diamond. How the fuck is that supposed to help them find him? Every dream is one puzzle piece, but they've only got a handful out of a 1000-piece puzzle, and those are scattered across the expanse of the whole picture, where no two fit together to make something suddenly come into sharp view. 

Buffy's was people in cloaks at some kind of gathering. "Like _Eyes Wide Shut_ , only a lot less creepy." 

Great, what they've got to go on consists of boring Greek tragedy, boring, pretentious porn, porny scenes from Faith's own worst moments, and some fucking unintelligible shit about tiny diamonds and huge diamonds. Fuck the fucking Powers That Be. They've never been on her side, the side of anyone she cares about; they just live to fuck around with people. The world is a giant pinball machine to them, and all of them at the hacienda are just being bashed around from flipper to flipper. 

Faith shouts again, and the waterworks start from the third slayer. Buffy gently pulls Faith aside. "Not that I don't appreciate you hanging in with the training even with everything that's on your mind, but why don't you get out for a run or something? Burn off some of that helpless rage." 

B.'s right, of course. Faith nods, then looks out at the assembled girls. "Shit. It's not you, you know that." She hopes that's enough of an apology, because it's all they're going to get. 

Cutting through the hacienda to tell Giles and Wes where she's going, she finds them still at the kitchen table, notes and texts scattered before them, including Dawn's notes on last night's dreams. 

"You both look like shit," she says. 

Giles takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, which are puffy from lack of sleep. "I suspect you're right, but we can't stop to rest now." 

"I wasn't suggesting you should. Wes, I'm beginning to think you should get back on that damn jet and go as far as you need to to get those blank books up and running again. Maybe you wouldn't have to go all the way back to Wolfram & Hart, just get into range." 

"That's entirely possible," Wes says. "We've never attempted this before." 

"Well, maybe you could fly back in range, then have the jet circle while you read the stuff you need. As soon as you've covered everything, get the hell back here." 

Giles looks distinctly unhappy at this prospect. 

"Look," Faith says, "I know you think the Codex is a load of crap, but you haven't given me a reason. We've all seen you swallow more freaky prophecies than this, so what's the problem here?" 

"The Codex appears to be a translation of a translation. And the fact that it was copied onto a scroll means there's another potential source of change or error. Sumerian was written in cuneiform, inscribed on tablets. Someone evidently transcribed those tablets, either to study or to transport more easily. But even the original Sumerian is believed to be a translation, because it doesn't pertain to anything we know of Mesopotamian culture. So the Codex is a third- or fourth-hand source, and no primary source has ever been found. Until there's a more direct source of information, scholars are cautious about --" 

"Well, bully for scholarly caution, Rupert, but we're not just sitting around the lecture hall. We're not just talking about the apocalypse either. We're going to stop these fuckers from putting out Xander's other eye, and we're going to use what we've got until we find something better. So why don't you apply your ass to finding something better and let Wes work on his part." Great. Way she's going she'll have Giles bursting into tears, too. It's time she got herself out of the hacienda. "Later." 

She runs her usual route, pushing herself harder than normal because she doesn't have to worry about Xander keeping up. It feels bad to be carrying on their morning routine without him, as if the terrible thing she fears has already happened. She tries veering off their route, but it doesn't help. All she can think about is Jenny's dream, the blood streaking down both of Xander's cheeks. 

Without conscious thought, she finishes her run at the Starbucks. It's later than she normally arrives, so there's no line of commuters getting their coffees to take to their desks. The muffin is behind the counter, and he gets a deer-in-the-headlights look as he sees her come in. But he manages to unfreeze and ask for her order, and he calls it off correctly. He neatens a rack of chocolate-covered graham crackers, then says, "I didn't see your husband this morning. I hope he's okay." 

Before he can even flinch, Faith has him by the hair, hauling him forward across the counter and grinding his face against the glass top. 

She bends over him, speaking close to his ear, her voice dangerously calm. "What the fuck do you know about my husband?" 

* * *

Faith's so focused on the kid that the store manager tackles her from behind and peels her off him. "Yvette, call 911," he directs the girl at the espresso machine. 

Faith shakes him off, but by then the muffin has straightened and backed away out of reach, his hand at his ear. "No," he says, to Faith's surprise. "Yvette, I'm okay." 

"Lady, it's time for you to leave," the manager says. "If you ever come back, I will call the police." 

"Wait," says the muffin. "Let me talk to her a minute." 

"Gabe --" the manager protests. 

"It'll be okay. We'll be right by the door out there. Count it as my break if you want." His voice is a little shaky, but he's firm. Faith can almost admire that. 

He leads her out to the deck, positioning himself in plain view of the coffee bar. " _Ow_." Lowering his hand from the ear she'd had pressed against the glass counter, he peeks at his fingertips, checking for blood. He reaches up again, rubbing at the skin behind his ear, and Faith finally spots it. The small diamond stud glittering at his earlobe. 

_One of the puzzle pieces._ "What the fuck do you know about my husband?" she asks again. 

"Nothing," he says, and it's all Faith can do not to take him down on the spot. "Nothing that I _know_. But I've had this strange feeling something might be wrong." 

"And why would you be having _feelings_ about him?" 

"Don't ask me. I -- I had this weird dream last night." 

Faith laughs harshly. "And what, you can see the future in your dreams?" 

"Sometimes." His gaze is defiant. 

"Look, kid, I don't know what your game is, but if something happens to my husband and I find out you had anything to do with it, you're going to be wishing you'd never been born, you understand?" 

A corner of his mouth twists upward. "Like that would be something new. But I swear I haven't hurt him. I wouldn't." 

"How do you even know he's my husband?" 

"Matching rings," the muffin says. "And, um, you're kind of all over him. Like newlyweds." It looks to her like there's more than he's saying, but he clams up. 

"What happened in this dream?" 

"I don't exactly know," he says, the words all stretched out, and this is where she loses all patience. 

"What are you after? Money?" 

"No. _No_ ," he stammers. "I'll tell you everything I can. It was dark, though. There was some kind of chanting. And I saw this design." 

"A design." 

He nods. "I can draw it for you. I'm pretty good at visual arts stuff, and it's still real clear in my head. I'll get some paper from inside." 

No way she's letting him out of her sight, so she follows him inside. Once he gets a piece of paper he sits at a table and painstakingly draws a diagram with circles, arcs and angles. Almost like a mechanical drawing. When he finishes he offers it to her, gauging her reaction. 

"Doesn't mean shit to me. Do you know what it is?" 

He shakes his head. 

"What I don't get -- why are you having dreams about Xander?" 

The muffin shrugs. "Why should I stop now? I've been having them since May." Again he meets her gaze with a defiant expression. 

"You mean the dreams about the future." 

"I mean the dreams about your husband. He used to wear a patch over his eye." 

Faith finds herself on her feet. "You and me? We're goin' for a walk, junior. Right now." 

* * *

It's like a game of Clue. In the library with Mr. Giles and a pile of books. Musty-smelling books that make Jenny's sinuses twitch, with typefaces that are kind of dense and hard to read. Buffy, Willow and Dawn are here too, and Kalindi. Mr. Giles scouts a carton of books that came this morning from somewhere overseas, sorting its contents into first string, second string and third string. The ones with the most potential he passes out first. 

Jenny's scrawled on a piece of scratch paper the list of things to look for. 

Pair of seers, one male, one female. Pair of gods, same deal. That weird word from Faith's dream -- En-Igi. Anything about diamonds. 

_Diamonds._ "You don't think it could mean the Jake, do you?" 

Mr. Giles has no idea what she's talking about. 

"Jacobs Field. You know, a baseball diamond. To me, you say the heart of a diamond, and I think the pitcher's mound -- never mind, that's really stupid." 

"Not at all," Mr. Giles assures her. "Every possibility is worth consideration. It's never a good idea to approach prophecy with too literal a mind -- it's much too perverse for that, much of the time. You've been there -- does Jacobs Field seem like a suitable place for a ritual?" 

"Baseball is all about ritual," Jenny says. "Probably more than any other sport. Okay, except sumo wrestling, maybe. A ballpark? Yeah, it's probably groomed as obsessively as anywhere you'd have some kind of rite. If it's gotta be at night, the groundskeepers would get the basepaths and the warning track in order, but they wouldn't put down the lines and the bases until before the next game. If that's important. If all that's key, but all you need is dark -- well, is there an eclipse due anytime soon?" Jenny hears the passion in her voice, and suddenly feels like a big dork. She can't help it, though. She wants to contribute something, do something concrete to help A.L. 

"Kalindi," Mr. Giles says, "does that seem in keeping with anything you saw in your dream?" 

Before she can answer, though, there's a clatter from outside the library. Faith barges through the door, looking -- well, Jenny sometimes has trouble reading the difference between intense and angry with Faith. People have the same trouble with Jenny, so she never takes it personally. Right now, she's betting on angry. Faith's going to be in a pisser of a mood until A.L. makes it back safe. 

"Rupert," Faith says. "I brought you a shiny present." She holds onto the doorknob, keeping the door snugged close to her hip. 

Mr. Giles looks up, puzzled and expectant. "Have you found something?" 

"Oh yeah. A homegrown dreamer of slayer dreams." She gives the door a shove then, swinging it open to reveal a slim-hipped guy with long, dust-brown hair. "Say hi to Gabe." 

Spots of color burn high on his cheeks. "Actually, it's Gabriel. And I'm not homegrown. I came here over the summer. Because of the dreams." 

"He's dreamed about Xander," Faith says. "Since May. That's what he says." 

Kalindi squeaks. "That's him. The boy in my dream. You have a diamond earring, don't you?" 

He looks utterly confused, but he's not the only person wearing that expression. "It's just a CZ." He rubs behind his ear, as if it's sore. 

"So explain this, Giles," Faith says. 

He stammers for a moment. "Well, obviously they're not slayer dreams. There must be some other explanation for them." He studies Gabriel. "Have events in any of your dreams come to pass?" 

"Some, yeah. Almost never the whole dream. Actually, those are usually pretty disjointed. They don't make a lot of sense." 

"Neither does this, I've gotta say," Buffy comments. "I mean, that sounds like slayer dreams. Which is impossible." 

Gabriel fixes on Mr. Giles as he says, "Anyone want to explain what slayer dreams are, and why I supposedly can't have them?" 

Everyone looks around at each other then, suddenly aware that they've been talking about secret things in front of a stranger. 

"You know," Dawn says brightly. "The heavy metal band. Slayer." 

The boy ignores that. "Slayer -- is that the name for those monsters in the dreams? Mostly they're the same kind, but not always. Yellow eyes, fangs, bumpy Klingon forehead, except not -- that's the usual." 

Now everyone's back to staring at Mr. Giles, who stammers. 

Kalindi pipes up in a small voice. "In the dreams, what are you doing?" 

"Fighting them. Sometimes in a graveyard, sometimes in an alley." 

"He's tapped into the slayer dreams somehow," says Willow. "Giles, could it have something to do with the earring and the huge diamond in Kalindi's dream? Something's acting as some kind of mystical transmitter?" 

Jenny shakes her head. "If it was diamond earrings, we'd have half the Cleveland Indians here with the same problem." 

"He said his wasn't a diamond." 

"If it was CZs," Faith says, "we'd have every insomniac who watches Home Shopping Network lining up at our door." 

"What's the deal about whether I'm having them or not?" Gabriel asks. "Look, I came here to see if I could help her husband. If I'm just supposed to stand around while you talk like I'm not even here, I could just arrange to be gone." 

"Sit down, Junior," Faith growls. 

He does. 

"It's not the monsters who are the slayers," Faith says. "Those are vampires. Slayers are the girls who fight them. That's the deal -- it's a girl's gig." 

"The dreams are part of the slayer package," Buffy tells him. "That's why we can't figure this out." 

"I'm still not convinced they're slayer dreams," Mr. Giles says. 

"That's the rule, huh?" Gabriel asks. "It can only be girls." 

"Not so much a rule as a natural law," Giles says. "There have been slayers since before recorded history, and they've all been girls. Once the histories have begun being written, it's quite explicit. The Slayer must be a girl." 

"Could it be Whistler?" Kalindi asks. "He told me back in Moresby that everything was out of balance with all the new girls. You think maybe some boys are getting called?" 

"You think maybe it's just a fuckup of nature?" Gabriel suggests. "Happens all the time. Two-headed calf. Three-legged dog." He laughs, but there's no humor in the sound. "Maybe I'm just a freak." 

Faith's breath hisses out, and she exchanges a look with Mr. Giles. 

Mr. Giles seems to snap back into focus. "Gabriel, Faith," he says quietly. "Would you both come with me. The rest of you, please carry on with what you were doing. We still have a prophecy to find, and time is of the essence." 

The door closes behind them. 

_Time is of the essence._

Blood running down A.L.'s cheeks. 

Yeah. Jenny bends her head over the text in her lap. 

* * *

Giles ushers them into the sitting area of his room, invites them to settle in as he puts water on to boil. 

The muffin -- Gabriel -- has a hard time sitting still. Have to give him credit for having the balls to come here at all. Whether he wants 'em or not. Faith's been developing a theory as she brought up the rear of their little parade from the library. That delicacy that she noticed before. He folds his hands together, presses them between his knees. 

"The girls have become accustomed to a rather collaborative style of problem-solving," Giles explains. "I thought perhaps you'd prefer more privacy." 

"Girls," Gabriel says. "You keep saying that. Those girls -- are they slayers? I mean, aren't they too young to be fighting those things?" 

"That's been the way of it for millennia," Giles says. "The slayer's often called in her mid-teens. To answer your question, yes, some of those young girls are slayers. The youngest, the girl who spoke of seeing you in a dream, yes." 

"Called. Who does that?" 

"It's not precisely a who," Giles begins. 

Time to cut to the chase. "More mystical shit," Faith says. "Girl wakes up one day, she's different. Stronger. Quicker to heal. And cursed with weirdass dreams that sometimes come true." She watches his face, and there's no doubt. 

"Or maybe you don't wake up," he says. 

"What do you mean?" Giles asks. 

"Maybe you're living your normal life -- say, getting the shit kicked out of you after school -- when things change. Just to make up a purely theoretical example." 

The kettle goes off, and Giles looks like he's spending the whole tea-making ritual trying to come up with his next question. He gives the pot a stir and lets it rest. "Gabriel, to find out exactly what's going on, I'll need to ask some rather delicate questions --" 

Gabriel gets this Joan of Arc look on his face, all _Oh shit, here comes the torch_. "Well, didn't I come here to help her husband? I mean, shouldn't we talk about the dream first?" 

"You're a tranny, aren't you?" she blurts. 

"Faith!" 

"Like he says, Rupert, time's short." 

Gabriel looks almost relieved. "I don't know. I guess. I never talked about this to anyone. I haven't even looked at those pamphlets at school. My life sucks enough without getting caught with that." 

"But what you said back there," Giles says. "About nature making an error. Did you mean in a boy mistakenly being called as a slayer, or --" 

"Me being a boy at all." 

"You identify as female, then." 

"I don't _identify_. Because, what's that mean, that I walk around telling people I'm a girl? I keep my mouth shut, and I'm sorry --" he casts a glance at Faith -- "but I'm beginning to wish I'd kept it shut back at work. I didn't bargain for all this, I just was hoping everything was okay." 

"Then let's get on that," Faith says. "Make a leap, Rupert, and assume it's a slayer dream. He said it was dark and there was chanting. He also saw some kind of design. Gabriel, did you bring that drawing?" 

"Shit. No, I left it when you --" 

"Dragged you physically out of the store?" 

Giles is already rummaging for paper and pencil, and he clears off a spot on one of the tables by the fireplace. As Gabriel bends his head over the paper, someone knocks at Giles's door. Faith opens it to find Andrew. "There's a phone call. From Wesley. I'd bring up the cordless, but he's on one of those air phones, and the connection's already bad." 

Faith turns to Giles. "You've got the background to follow what he says, but can you be open-minded enough?" 

"At this point, yes." 

"Then you go." She turns back to Andrew, who's avidly taking in Gabriel, though all that's visible is a slight form curled over the paper, hair falling forward to obscure his face. "Thanks, Andrew." 

He steps aside to let Giles pass, but then steps forward again. _New slayer?_ he mouths, pointing toward Gabriel. 

"Thanks, Andrew," she says again, closing the door in his face. 

Watching Gabriel recreate the drawing, she gets caught up in his complete absorption in what he's doing. Faith wonders if these are the only moments when he feels at ease with himself. "You majoring in art?" 

"Nah," he says, his voice distant. "I just screw around with it." Yeah, that's the very definition of screwing around, the way he's bent to his task, letting nothing distract him. He reminds her of Wes as he drew his careful renderings of Ptah for the Hand of Imhotep ritual. 

She fingers the small silver capsule she wears around her neck, with one of the Ptah drawings scrolled tightly inside. Xander wears a matching silver chain with an identical scroll. She sends up something like a prayer that the god of craftsmen will be watching out for his boy Xander. 

Giles makes it back as Gabriel is putting the final touches on his drawing. 

"What did Wes find?" 

The grim set of his jaw answers that before he even speaks. "Nothing new. His memory of the text was very thorough. He did supply me with some terminology from the Codex." He shows her the brief scrawl of notes he carried back from downstairs. 

"Are these the gods' names?" 

Giles shakes his head. "Their titles. And this is the term you heard in your dream. The En-Igi is the Priest-Seer. The Nin-Igi is his female counterpart." 

"So what's this En-Nin-Igi?" 

"As far as we can tell, the two together, once merged, call forth both aspects of the god." 

"Merged." Faith pins him in her gaze. "And how exactly do they merge, Rupert?" 

"The texts are unclear on that point." 

_Unclear my ass._ She remembers her dream. "What about Wes? Is he on his way back?" 

"No. He's still working with the templates, trying to see if he can tease forth a primary source, something with more complete information." 

She nods. "Good plan. We can reach him if we decide he needs to be here?" 

"Yes. Well. Let's see what Gabriel has for us." He takes the paper that Gabriel offers -- as far as Faith can see, it's identical to the drawing he'd done for her in Starbucks. She watches Giles's face as he scans it, but she can't read his expression. "Jesus wept," he finally says. 

"Something you recognize?" 

"Christ, yes." She gets a read on it now. Defeat and disgust. He yanks off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. 

"Tell me." 

"It's a drawing of a sodding record player." 

* * *

"I swear," Gabriel says. "It's what I saw." 

"I don't doubt that," Giles says. "But I suspect this is not a slayer dream, after all." 

"Why not?" Faith demands. "When do they ever make sense? You're going to throw out everything in the dream because you can't fit this piece into the puzzle? Right now the puzzle is about three pieces of edge and one from the middle, and we've got to cover the whole kitchen table. They do have jigsaw puzzles in England, don't they, or am I speaking what might as well be Chinese?" 

"Of course we -- Faith, I will _not_ lose this boy. He's the closest I'll ever come to having a son." 

"Preachin' to the choir, Giles. In fact, you're preaching to the choirmaster for the Pope. We'll get him back." 

"What happened to him?" Gabriel asks. 

"Kidnapped. By these fuckers in robes," Faith tells him. "The one time he sets foot in a church. _Rupert._ Sit down and drink some of your goddamn tea." 

"Faith --" 

"I mean it. If I have to watch you pace, I'm gonna fricken snap. Is there any of that cake left?" 

Giles jams his hands into his pockets. "I took it down to the kitchen." 

"Well, that's gone, then." Faith does what she remembers seeing Giles do, giving the pot another stir and then pouring tea. She hands a cup to Gabriel, then holds one out to Giles. 

At last he takes it and sits himself down. 

"So what if we have Willow try the locator spell again?" she asks. 

"I'm not certain that's wise," Giles says. "She said she felt something blocking her. She won't stop pushing; I'm afraid she'll harm herself." 

"Look, I know I don't get any points for being a charter member of the Willow Welfare Association, but if we're talking her getting a nosebleed or Xander getting blinded, take a guess which side I'm voting." 

"I realize that," he says gently. "But there's no way of telling how much damage each attempt is doing." 

She is dangerously close to not giving a fuck, but she knows there's nothing to be gained by saying so. Willow's as much a daughter to him as Xander is a son. "So okay. We go to the library again, see if they've turned up anything in the books. Then we go over everything we have again." And when Giles isn't watching, maybe she makes the suggestion to Willow herself. 

They're gathering up their notes when Andrew knocks again. "Phone again. It's Kalindi's aunt." 

"I'll take it," Giles says. 

"Um, no," Andrew says. "She's already off. She said she has a medical appointment here in Cleveland at three, and after she's done, she's dropping by to see how Kalindi's getting along." 

Why, Faith wonders, is there a neverending supply of the last thing on earth you need? " _Fuck me dead._ " 

* * *

"She hates Cleveland," Kalindi says. "I didn't even live with her that long, and I know that." Everyone's been pulled into the library for an emergency meeting, while Andrew does a sweep of the hacienda to remove anything incriminating. "I never thought we'd have to worry about this." She's trying hard to be stoic, but Faith can see there are waterworks in the offing. 

Faith remembers her dream, from before they found Kalindi. The woman throwing her off a cliff. But hadn't she called the woman Mommy? Faith shakes her head. Religious types. They'd scorned her own ma for neglecting her, yet these two dried-up bitches had shoved this girl out of her home and packed her off with strangers. 

"Andrew said she was coming to see a specialist about her arm," Faith says, and that sets off the silent tears. Faith massages her own temples. "Not tryin' to be a hardass here, but we've got work to do. We've got two problems we've gotta deal with, and they're both pretty much four-alarm fires." She's gratified to see, though, that Dawn reaches over and squeezes Kalindi's arm before the girl palms the tears off her face. 

She surveys the girls and Gabriel sitting around the table. Their faces are turned toward her, but their bodies have achieved varying degrees of bonelessness. She gets a sudden, intense flashback to Sunnydale, the gatherings in Giles's domain. "Here's the plan," she declares. And this is what freaks her: She's the Giles. Things are woefully fucked if she's running the strategy session. But, last time she looked, things were woefully fucked. "First thing, we go over everything we've got from the dreams, the prophecy, everything else we've got. We'll put in a concentrated hour, then we're switching gears and Kalindi's giving us a seminar on how to be the perfect Christian girls' school." She spots a look between Rona and Vi. "And let's make this clear right from the start: whatever she says we do, wear or say, that's how it goes. No foot-dragging, no smirking, no smart remarks under the breath. What's at stake is not just whether Kalindi gets to stay here, but possibly all of you. Remember how she kept you from killing those dumbasses running through the graveyard the other night? Well, here's something else she's got expertise in. Listen to her and trust her. Around three we'll revisit the dreams and everything, see if anyone's had a subconscious flash while thinking about everything else. We should have heard from Wes by then, too. Kalindi's aunt comes sometime after that, and we do what it takes to put her mind at ease. Everyone clear on everything?" This is the longest fuckin' speech she's made in her life, she's sure of it. 

"What's _he_ doing here?" Rona asks, indicating Gabriel with a thrust of her chin. 

"Gabriel brought us a piece of the puzzle. He's sitting in on the review of what we have so far, to see if anything clicks." 

"But why--" 

"I don't remember mentioning the question-answer session in our schedule," Faith says. "We're havin' that after Xander's back safe. Got it?" 

"Yessir," Rona says. 

"That's the attitude I want to hear, even if you have to fake it. Again, we're all pulling together on this. If you don't think you can, that's your invitation to leave. Because if you fuck this up, everyone may have to leave." 

She looks around the table again. Rona and Vi look suitably sobered, and Jenny looks like she's in love. Buffy, leaning her ass on a bookshelf behind them all, drops Faith a wink. 

"All right then," Faith says. "Let's start going over this. In the meantime, I'm passing around a paper. Write down your name and your clothes and shoe sizes. Dawn and Kalindi will head over to Vinnie's in a bit to get us some good Christian clothes." 

As she thrusts their sheaf of notes at Giles, she realizes her stomach is knotted into a hard fist of tension. She is just not cut out for this generalissimo shit. 

"You got the floor, Giles. Let's get everyone up to speed." 

* * *

Nothing. 

That's what all their sifting through the dreams and prophecies gets them. No intuitive flashes, no sudden memory of a dream detail that had remained hidden before. Jenny's disgusted with herself; she's usually sharper than this. 

Buffy tries to keep things upbeat, but Mr. Giles has settled into an understated worry, while Faith looks grimmer and angrier as the session goes on. 

The last thing Jenny expects to lift the general mood is the return of Dawn and Kalindi, who'd cut out early with Gabriel. They burst in, loaded down with assorted recycled grocery bags from the thrift shop. 

"Okay," Dawn says, "I think we've got everyone outfitted. Tell 'em what you were thinking, Kalindi." 

"Well, it occurred to me we should probably get dressed now. We want to look like this is what we wear every day. If we look too freshly ironed, that'll seem off, whether or not she realizes what's wrong." 

"Good call," Buffy says. "Plus it'll get us in our role while Kalindi's briefing us." 

" _And--_ Dawn prompts. 

"Oh," Kalindi says. "This was actually Dawn's idea. There'll be prizes. Worst Skirt. Most Pious. Most Radical Transformation." Speaking of which, the difference in Kalindi's mood is noticeable. Not that she's bouncing or anything, but she looks less terrified, a little more ready for the challenge. "There are a couple of unspecified prizes which we'll figure out on the spot," she adds. 

Girls start reaching for the bags, but Kalindi holds up a hand. "First, we all have to go wash off our makeup. All of it. Dawn's got nail polish remover if anyone needs that. Meet back here in ten minutes, and we'll use the library as a dressing room." 

"Better flee, Rupert," Faith says. 

"My thought exactly. I'll see how Andrew's coming with the purge." 

"Take these, too." Dawn thrusts a shopping bag from a religious bookstore toward him. "Bibles. We need dogears, spine creases, all those things that make your librarian soul shudder. They need to look like someone's cracked 'em before today." 

He takes the bag. "I must say, I'm quite impressed with your strategic minds, the two of you." 

Dawn and Kalindi exchange a pleased look, then a heartbeat later the room erupts in movement and talk. 

Fifteen minutes later, it's even louder and more chaotic. Clothes are flying everywhere: a wealth of unappealing knee-length skirts, clunky shoes, and a bunch of matching blue shirts in every possible size. 

"It's like the straight-to-video of the clothing biz," Buffy says of the shirts, "when your entire line goes straight to the thrift store. Nice idea, the school uniform look." 

Jenny thinks she's a natural for the Worst Shoe prize, if they have one. Brown, scuffed lace-ups that must add a good forty pounds to her weight. "I look like a nun with polio," she says, and manages to get a laugh even from Faith. 

By the time they're all dressed and settled in for their seminar on how to act, everyone's into the challenge, even Rona. Like Mr. Giles said, Dawn and Kalindi have got some smarts -- not only about strategy but about creating a team. Jenny's always sucked at this herself, but she knows it when she sees it. 

She glances at the clock and settles in to pay attention. Time's growing short, and not just for Kalindi. 

* * *

Fuckin' A. 

When Giles pokes his head in to see how they're progressing, there's a libraryful of demure, devout young ladies in badly-fitting skirts. But the skirts now have creases in the right places, and so have the Bibles. Giles suggests they shouldn't be too obvious about it, and sends the girls off to put them on their bedside tables. He settles down to scrawling Biblical citations on a dry erase board, erasing them, writing different ones, and repeating the process until the board looks like it's been in the library for more than twenty minutes. 

As he works, he says, "Faith, you're doing a remarkable job. I'm quite impressed." 

"It's Kalindi and Dawn, not me." 

"Rubbish," he says mildly. "They've taken their cue from you." 

"I don't know, Giles. Just the other day I swore to myself I'd never abandon any of these girls, no matter how much they fuckin' irritate me." _Fuck_ feels strange, rolling out of her unlipsticked mouth. I swore I'd never turn my back on what we made. Now here I am telling them it's my way or the highway." 

"This is different. The survival of our group is at stake. You needed to get their attention, and you did." 

She shrugs. "Heard anything from Wes?" 

"Yes. I'm sorry; I meant to update you. He's on his way back here. He tried to find some kind of primary source for the Parthi Codex, but he's had no luck." 

There's a big fat non-surprise. Seems like nothing is going to work out for them. 

Buffy heads back into the room, hanging a picture of Jesus on an empty picture hook. "Dawn found a few of these at the thrift shop. She's got an eye for the religious art, doesn't she?" 

Dawn slips in the door. "I don't know much about saviors, but I know what I like. Everyone's on the way back, by the way. Andrew included." 

"Oh god," Buffy says. "What are we going to do with Andrew?" 

"Stuff him in a steamer trunk," Faith suggests, "and say he's the dummy in Giles's Ventriloquism for Jesus act." 

Giles fixes her with a look. "That is appalling on so many levels." 

The girls flock in for a landing, ready for some last-minute admonitions from Kalindi. Bringing up the rear is Andrew, dressed in a suit, god love him, and his hair all slicked down like Alfalfa on a date. He's got a box of Vi's lurid Virgin Mary nightlights in his arms. "Are you _sure_ you want me to hide all these?" 

"Believe me," Kalindi says. "We want to hide them." 

Andrew shifts the box to get a better look at something on the library table. "Hey, neat. Who drew the aerial view of the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame?" 

" _What?_ " Faith and Giles chorus. 

"A lot of people don't know about that," Andrew says, getting that geekshine on his face he gets when he knows something most people don't. "But the architects who designed the buildings and the plaza made it to look like an old record player." 

* * *

Everything falls into place. 

Gabriel's drawing. 

Kalindi's giant diamond at the water's edge -- just like the damn PTB to give that dream to her, when she's the only slayer at the hacienda who hasn't been to the Hall of Fame. 

The pervading sense of sound as an all-encompassing presence in both Kalindi's and Jenny's dreams. 

Even -- Faith laughs out loud. "Your stupid Codex had the answer all along, Rupert. Except it's not a temple of stone. It's the temple of _Rock_." 

Giles shakes his head. "I even told Jenny it never pays to be too literal with prophecy, but I never thought -- It's a perfect location. The juncture of the ancient and the modern --" 

"I wouldn't say your record player is _ancient_ , Giles," Buffy says. "Really, really old, yes." 

"Very amusing. But think about it. A pyramid constructed of glass and steel, at the point where land meets water." 

"What do you want to bet it's right smack on top of the hellmouth," Kennedy says. 

"My aunt would think so," Kalindi says. "No question." 

"Speaking of which, you'd better finish getting ready," Faith says. "I want to check out the Hall of Fame, see what I can find out. Red, you willing to come, see if you can find out if he's already there?" 

"Absolutely. I'll grab a couple of supplies." 

"Make it fast. Meet us at the car. All I'm planning is to check the place out, but if we run into a fight, I want another slayer there. Buffy, I'm thinking we need you here. Kalindi's aunt already knows you, and we want her feeling comfortable. The faster we get her out of here, the better, because we may need to mount up tonight." 

"I agree," Buffy says, "even though it's a lot easier to stake something than put on the pious." 

"You were perfect, though," Kalindi says. 

"Kennedy," Faith says. "Grab a couple of concealables, and meet us at the car. I'll do the same. The rest of you -- we may get our big battle tonight. But you've got an important fight right ahead of you, it's just not as filled with the slayer fun. Maybe the fate of the world isn't resting on that one, but there's a lot that is, so take it seriously, remember what Kalindi's told you. We may be back for part of it. You're doing good so far." 

She heads for the door, and Giles touches her arm as she passes. "Faith. Be safe." 

"Do my best, Rupert." 

Two minutes later she's geared up and starting the car. 

* * *

Kalindi smoothes her skirt over her knees, then looks at the clock again. Four-thirty. She and Buffy have come to the main house to wait in the room Faith calls the parlor, figuring the less time Aunt Meg has alone to notice and think about things, the better. The other girls and Mr. Giles are in the library next door to this house, poised for their classroom charade. 

_Why doesn't she come?_ Kalindi feels she was at her sharpest forty-five minutes ago. Now, with the tension eating at her, she's sure she's losing her edge. And what of the girls next door? They were very convincing when they practiced, but they've been playing the waiting game too, all that slayer energy trapped in the library with no way to burn it off. With this many more people involved, there are so many things that can go wrong. 

"What's taking so long?" she asks. 

"This is probably par for the course," Buffy says. "She's seeing an orthopedist, right? So maybe he's taking X-rays right in his office, then they have to read them, talk to her about the results. Not to mention by three o'clock he may be running late anyway from other appointments. It's tough, isn't it? The waiting. Like staking out some underground cavern, waiting for some big evil to arise -- oh god, not that I mean your aunt is even a tiny evil --" 

Kalindi laughs, the tension broken. "It's okay, I know what you mean. It's my fault, you know." 

"What is?" 

"The orthopedist. She's seeing him about her arm. The one I broke." 

"It was an accident, Kalindi. Every new slayer who's ever been probably has a story like that. It's unfortunate, because it made things so much harder with your aunt, but it's a pretty common occurrence." 

"He's one, isn't he?" 

"You lost me. You need to remember to use your conversational turn signals." 

"Sorry." She fiddles with her skirt again. It's one she brought from Aunt Meg's. "That boy. Gabriel. He's a slayer, isn't he?" 

"If _Giles_ is flummoxed, don't expect _me_ to have the answers. It's sure a twist on one of the twistiest businesses since the dawn of time, though." 

"I dreamed about him. Xander recognized him right away. He asked him how it could be, but it was like he knew that it was true." 

Buffy fiddles with her own skirt. Must be catching. "I don't know, Kalindi. But the dreams -- they're not completely reliable." 

She thinks of the end of the dream, of Xander's terrible smile as the ground trembled. _The god's coming. This should be good._

She hopes Buffy's right. 

She hears a car pull up in front of the house, the sudden lack of sound as the engine cuts off. The slam of two doors -- of course, Joe would have come with her. 

Andrew twitches the lace curtains at the front window, then straightens his tie. "Here they come." 

Her heart stops. 

* * *

"Screw this parking garage shit," Faith says. "I want the car within sight in case things go sour." She circles the block again, looking for an illegal space. 

Kennedy, who's been unusually monosyllabic, says from the back seat, "Faith, thanks for asking me along. I've been needing something like this." 

Faith flicks a glance at her in the rearview. _What does she think this is, a date?_

"A chance to do something for Xander, I mean. What happened to his eye -- that was because of me. Because he went back to help me, I mean." 

"Honey, no --" Willow begins, which Faith bets she's said about a million times, with as much effect as now. 

"That's when Caleb got him." 

"I never once heard that from him," Faith says. "So don't think he's holding it against you." 

"He's never given me any sign that he does, I'm not saying that. I just wish --" 

"We do _not_ make wishes around here," Willow says firmly. "Even in private." 

"He was overdue," Faith says. _That_ gets a reaction from both Kennedy and Willow. "Ever since I knew him, he was the first guy to jump into a fight, even though he knew he was the most vulnerable one of us. Buffy tried to keep him out of things a few times, but he hated that. He pulls that 'Oh, I'm just a big chickenshit' act, but it's bull. Never believe anything Xander says about himself. Watch what he does -- _that's_ who he is. So, seven years he's been wading into fights with nasties -- some of 'em looking to end the world -- and this one time the odds caught up to him. That doesn't make it your fault." 

She finds an open space across from the Hall, marked _No Parking -- Active Driveway_. She glides along the curb cut and stops the car. 

"Here's something else you should know. Today we're making our own odds. Ancient gods or not, we're kicking some ass and getting him back." 

* * *

The voices from the foyer grow louder, moving toward the parlor doors. Buffy rises to greet her aunt and uncle them while Kalindi stays seated, waiting for instructions. It's so strange to be sitting this way, hands folded, completely submissive, when it's Kalindi herself who has orchestrated this entire scenario. 

She hears her _kandere_ ask, "Our car -- will it be all right out front?" 

"Oh, it's fine," Andrew says. "The parking rules don't change till midnight. They're pretty strict about ticketing, but you're good for now." 

Beside her, Buffy lets out a measured breath. For some reason she hadn't been too enthusiastic about Andrew's role, but they'd decided he'd earned it, and so far he's doing well. 

"No," her aunt says as they reach the parlor doorway, "I mean, is anyone going to bother it?" Her good arm clutches her purse tight against her body, and Kalindi suddenly realizes that she's scared, that this is why she hates the city so much. It makes her feel a little sorry for her aunt, but she also realizes that may make her more dangerous. The smoky-gray cat, still holed up beneath the dish cabinet in the dining room, is a recent reminder of that. 

Buffy steps forward. "It'll be fine, Mrs. Henderson. We've never had any problem here. The Lord has truly blessed us." She offers her hand, looking so sleek and elegant in the skirt and silk blouse she'd worn when she and Mr. Giles had come for her. "It's so good to see you both again. Kalindi, come say hello to your aunt and uncle." 

She goes to hug them, but they're both distracted, overwhelmed by their surroundings. "Auntie, how's your arm?" 

"Doctor says it's healing up well," Joe says, which earns him a dark look from her aunt. 

Kalindi makes her an offering of guilt. "I'm so sorry I hurt you, Auntie. I didn't mean to." Of all the things she'll say and seem to be today, this much is true. 

"Where's Mr. Giles?" 

"He's teaching the girls," Buffy says. "You can see him now, if you like, or would you like me to give you the tour?" 

Meg looks around, taking in the grandness of everything. Kalindi has begged Buffy and the others not to apologize for the daintiness of it. It may not suit their natures -- Dawn has clued her in that this was the source of Xander's embarrassment when he first showed her around -- but it fits the image they want to project. 

"You should see it, Aunt Meg. Everything's so beautiful here. I feel blessed to live with such pretty things." This, too, is true. 

Meg nods, eyes shining. "I'd like that." This is the first time Kalindi has recognized her as the aunt she loved so much when she was small. 

Buffy's tour is much different from Xander's orientation. _Kitchen, my room, Giles's room_ \-- the "need to know" tour. Buffy knows a little about antiques -- she says it came from her mom, who worked in an art gallery in California -- and she plays to Aunt Meg's interest. 

Kalindi's _kandere_ is taken with the garden, too, so Buffy calls Andrew outside to tell her about some of the planting he's done. "The girls work so hard," he says, "it's good for them to have a place to go to see some beauty. Enjoy God's creation." 

Meg turns to Buffy. "Are there many boys at the school?" 

Kalindi's breath catches. She was afraid of this. 

"Oh, Andrew's not a student," Buffy says. "He's Mr. Giles's son. American born. He helps run the school. The gardening and organizing the girls to do kitchen work. And there's Xander. He's a teacher; he's about my age. He's away right now. Working to introduce God to the people in a completely personal way." 

The charade is getting away from her. It's like the game that girl Beth taught Kalindi when she visited California, where you build a tower of sticks, pulling them from below to pile on top. Soon the whole ruse will start to sway, then topple. Kalindi blurts, "Mr. Giles is expecting us." 

For once the tension in her voice works in her favor instead of undermining her. Let Meg think she's a little intimidated by him. 

"You're right," Buffy says. "We don't want to keep him waiting. The classroom is next door." As she ushers them toward the gate between the back yards, Buffy turns to Andrew and signals him to call Giles with a heads-up. _Say hi to Dad_ , she mouths. 

* * *

There's a steady stream of people leaving the Hall as they cross the plaza to the entrance. A guard heads them off as Faith leads the way to the door. "Sorry girls. The Hall is closed." 

"Closed?" Kennedy echoes. "I thought it was open until 5:30." 

"Special event tonight. We're closing early." 

"But -- we were supposed to meet our friends in there." 

"Your friends'll be coming out. It's closed." 

"So this thing tonight, there's gonna be famous people there, right?" Faith uses the blowjob voice, the one that says _You may already be a winner!_ She used it a lot back in the day, even if the result was usually _Sorry! But you will receive a parting gift of a year's supply of Turtle Wax._ "What time does that get started?" 

The guard smirks, gives her dumpy skirt and shapeless shirt the once-over. "Sorry, honey. Run along now." 

Faith turns back to the others and they shuffle away from the guard. "I am operating under a severe handicap here," she hisses. "Red, you getting anything?" 

"He's not here yet." 

"Could they be blocking you?" 

"No. I'd feel that. He's not here." 

Kennedy bends to retrieve an orange pamphlet, about the size of a CD insert, that someone has thrown on the ground. "Score. Here's a floor plan." 

"Special event," Faith says. "I wonder if Barney Fife over there has any clue how fuckin' special." 

"End of the world," Willow says. "Something like that only comes around once in a lifetime." 

* * *

Mr. Giles's cellphone goes off, and after an exchange of a bare handful of words, he slips the phone back into his pocket and says quietly, "The game's afoot." 

He turns to the whiteboard behind him and points to the line that reads: _3rd seal: Famine_ , and picks up in the middle of the lesson. He's already given them a quick gloss over the material, since supposedly they've been living it and breathing it during their months at the "school." It's real _Left Behind_ stuff. Jenny had a school friend who was into those books, but they were too way out to interest her. 

He's good at this. If he'd wanted to be a TV preacher, he'd probably be rich by now. When Kalindi and her folks come in, Mr. Giles is in the middle of telling them how, in the end times, billionaires will be starving, unable to trade all their gold and silver for even a loaf of bread. 

He breaks off and greets the visitors with a warm smile. "It's so good to see you again. I'm glad you could come to see our work and our girls. We're quite proud of these young women." He introduces them all to Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, giving a small bit of background on each girl. 

"They've come from such huge distances," Kalindi's aunt says. 

"None greater than Kalindi herself," Mr. Giles says. "We take this as a sign that the hand of the Lord is truly at work here, bringing us students from such far-flung places. Would you care to sit in on the rest of our lesson? We're discussing chapter six of the Book of the Revelation, the first six seals of the seven-sealed scroll." 

The aunt looks delighted, but the uncle isn't so eager. "We have a little while," he says softly to her. "But we want to have light for the drive home." 

Amazing how just a few words cause a shadow to pass over her expression. "That's true," Mrs. Henderson says with an apologetic smile. "We're not very comfortable driving in big cities, especially at night. Joe gets turned around so easily." 

Jenny could watch these two all day. He scores a minor point, but she makes him bleed for it, just a little. 

"Well, then," Mr. Giles says, "why don't we meet for a brief progress report on Kalindi. Miss Summers can take up the lesson." 

He gestures to Kalindi to come with them, and the four troop out of the library, closing the door behind them. 

"So," says Buffy brightly, "how far had you gotten?" 

"The sixth seal," Rona says. 

Buffy turns to look at the whiteboard. " _Oooh_ , anarchy." 

* * *

Aunt Meg digs hard for any potential bad news, but Mr. Giles assures her Kalindi's been adjusting well: getting along with her fellow students, helping without complaint, "and her knowledge of the Scriptures is impressive for one so young. She's had a brief spell of homesickness, but that's to be expected. Even when she misses her home and family, she's been respectful and well-behaved." 

"You're sure? You have to watch her -- she sneaks around, especially at night." 

"I'm quite certain," Mr. Giles assures her. "We have safeguards against that kind of thing. But more than that, I believe God is working in her life. You had already softened her heart, I believe, and the incident that caused your injury made her realize her life had spun out of control. She wants to change, and she's made great strides in that direction." 

"Her parents will be so relieved to hear that," Aunt Meg says. She's barely spoken to Kalindi at all, just talks about her as if she's a dog at obedience school. And Joe, near-silent as usual, has been eying her closely. He's figured something out: She's left a trace of eyeliner, something that gives her away. Kalindi finds it hard to breathe normally as the talk goes on around her. 

After an eternity, Aunt Meg declares that they'd better be on their way. Mr. Giles seems so calm and confident as he chats with them on the way to the car. "I'll allow you a few moments of privacy," he says after shaking Meg and Joe's hands. 

Kalindi turns to watch him climb the stone steps to the main house, feeling like she's just watched her lifeline swept out of reach by the current. The blue door closes behind him, and she breathes in its color, the tranquil hue of the old SeaPark dolphin pool. _Just another few minutes._ When she turns back, Joe is speaking quietly to Meg. 

Her _kandere_ reaches out and takes Kalindi's chin in her hand, tilting her face toward the slanting afternoon sunlight. "What's this?" 

"What, Auntie?" 

She traces her finger, surprisingly gently, outward from Kalindi's nose, about an inch below her left eye. "Is this a bruise?" 

There's the faintest mark left from yesterday morning's attack at the chapel, a slender thread of purple and a smudge of fading yellow. Kalindi's never seen a bruise disappear so quickly, and she'd hoped it would be invisible by the time her aunt arrived. "It's nothing," she says. 

Meg flicks a quick look at the blue door. "Did someone hit you?" 

" _No_." 

"I won't stand for that, and neither will your parents." 

"Everyone's been wonderful to me, Aunt Meg. Mr. Giles and the teachers are nothing but kind." 

"Was it the girl with the hair?" Meg surely means Rona, whose braids have been subdued as much as possible, pulled back into a plastic tortoiseshell clip. 

"Nobody hit me. A shipment of textbooks came in, and we were helping out by carrying them upstairs. I piled mine too high, and one slid off and got me right there by my nose." 

Meg's expression softens. "That's such a tender spot." 

Kalindi smiles. "Believe me, there were tears. It's fine now, Auntie." 

"All right then. We'd better get on our way." She hugs Kalindi, murmuring, "We've all been praying for you." 

"Me too." She accepts a hug from Joe, too, just as a car comes roaring up in front of the big ivy-twined tree. 

Faith bursts forth from the driver's seat as if she were spring-loaded. "Praise Jesus! That was some da-- some _righteous_ pamphleting!" She waves a fistful of tracts that Dawn had taken as samples from the Christian bookstore. "We laid the Truth on maybe _hundreds_ of those poor hellbound suckers at the Hall of Fame. Didn't we, sisters?" 

Kalindi's never seen a deer in headlights ( _Don't worry,_ Dawn had said, _neither have most people in America_ ), but she suddenly gets the drift when she sees Willow and Kennedy's faces. 

"We sure did," Kennedy finally stammers. "Let's go in and report to Mr. Giles, huh?" 

"This must be Kalindi's folks," Faith says. "We should say hello." 

"Aunt Meg, Joe, this is Faith, one of my teachers." 

"Faith. Guess God called my name from an early age," she says, as if it's an old, often-repeated line. She pumps Meg's hand, then Joe's. 

"And this is Kennedy, and Willow." 

They keep it to the bare minimum of hellos, which fills Kalindi with gratitude. 

"They were just leaving, so they'd have good driving light," Kalindi says. 

"Good thinking," Faith says. "I'll say a prayer for traveling mercies." 

Kalindi's afraid she's going to say it right there on the spot, but she merely offers goodbyes as Meg and Joe load themselves into the car. The four of them stand and wave them down Prospect Avenue, Kennedy muttering under her breath, "If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing." 

"Praise Jesus," Faith says again. "Now I can get out of this god-awful skirt. Did it go all right, Kalindi?" 

"I think so." 

"Good. I want the full report later. Right now we've got plans to make. Whatever's happening happens tonight." 

* * *

Faith feels like she can breathe again once Wesley gets there. More than anyone else in the hacienda, he's become a ruthless fighter. She wants a fighter like that on her side right now, on Xander's side. When everything's over and Xander's safe, she'll pause and wonder what made Wes that way, why he feels he has nothing left to lose. 

She even manages to laugh at the expression on Wes's face when he arrives by cab and finds them poring over copies of the Hall of Fame floorplan, all in their graceless blue shirts buttoned to the neck and their ugly-ass skirts. "Long story," she tells him. "You miss out on all the good stuff, Wes." 

"Yes," he says, bemused. "I believe I do." 

Faith makes room for him beside her. "I'm glad you're not missing this." Stabbing her finger at the floorplan, she says, "Here's your temple of stone. Close, anyway. It's the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame." 

"How did you ever --" 

"Team effort. It's a great story. I'll tell you if we all live. To me, the most logical place for this god thing to happen is the top of the pyramid. But there's a place two of the slayers dreamed about that's on another level. They both mentioned a dark place where sound is almost a living thing -- am I saying that right?" 

Kalindi and Jenny both nod. 

"So there's this room in the heart of the place where they play the music of the inductees. They flash video clips of them, so they keep it dark -- if I remember right, even the walls and floors and ceiling are black. And they've got a sound system that'll blow your panties off." 

"That is the place," Jenny exclaims. "I didn't recognize it in the dream, but -- yeah, of course." 

"There's something else that came out of the dreams," Faith says. "A new slayer. You and Giles can spend a good few years sorting this one out, but it's a little complicated to go into now. Right now, we get our strategy down." They turn their attention back to the floor plan, each of them contributing any details they can remember from their visit to the Hall. Once they've got the layout of the place down, Faith says, "So this is what I'm thinking. We need our most experienced fighters to face this god or gods, or -- best case scenario, keep it from manifesting." She doesn't much believe in best case scenarios, since she's never seen things happen that way, but she doesn't say that. "Buffy, Giles, Wesley, Willow and me. That covers weapons and magic." Here she is spouting orders again, and no one is stopping her. Maybe she shouldn't be acting like the smartest person in the room, because god knows, she's not. "You all good with that?" 

They all nod. Jesus. If _they_ think she knows what she's doing.... 

"What about the rest of us?" Jenny asks. 

"We'll need numbers to get into this place. My theory is there'll be more of the enemy on the lower levels, simply because there's more space. Also seems to me that the top floors will be reserved for the elite, maybe the priests or whatever it is they've got. You'll help us get in, and you'll keep the enemy from getting up to the higher levels once we're up there. Now --" She takes a deep breath, but the air seems to get stuck somewhere in her upper chest. "According to the dreams and prophecies, Xander is part of this, along with that psychic chick. If he's in robes and they're all in robes -- well, if you're hacking away, try to get a look. From the dreams, it seems like he might be swayed to their side somehow. Kennedy." 

"Yeah, Faith." 

"You're a strong fighter, and you've got some experience in a melee. I'd like you to do everything you can to get to Xander. There's a good chance you'll have to fight him, if he really wants to see this god come to earth. Keep him safe, but keep him from getting in our way. If you find this Serafina chick with him, get one of the other girls to babysit her. But you're responsible for Xander until we get the god situation under control." 

"Got it." 

"So these robed guys," Vi says. "Are they demons, or humans?" 

She's been afraid of this question. It makes a difference. And this once, with Xander's life (his eyesight at the least) on the line, she wishes it didn't. "Kalindi, you fought 'em. Could you tell?" 

"I never really got a look. They were human sized, though." 

Faith's got zero cred when it comes to battlefield ethics. She looks to Giles. 

"We must take our cue from how aggressive they prove to be. There may be innocents involved in this." 

"But if they do what they want," Dawn says, "even if they don't intend it, it still means the end of the world, right?" 

"The end of any world we'd wish to live in, at any rate," Wes murmurs. 

"So it's murky," Buffy says. "It usually is. We do our best, but basically we err on the side of the world not ending." She looks toward Faith. "And all of us coming home safe." 

"Any other questions?" Faith asks. She hopes not. 

"We're sure these are gods of some kind?" Kalindi asks in a small voice. 

Faith isn't sure which is scaring the girl most, the immensity of it or just the idea of gods plural. Certainly this is nothing she's been taught could be in the realm of the possible. 

"I know," Buffy says softly. "The only time I ever thought I couldn't possibly win was when we were fighting a hellgod. But we did win. This is 'we,' not 'I,' and that makes all the difference." 

"You died," Dawn says pointedly, and Faith sees the scars of this in her, in Giles and Willow. 

"Not helping," Buffy says in an overly sweet singsong. "We won. Gods can be beaten." 

"I'd suggest making your move before the god manifests," Wes says. "Or failing that, before the Dingir-Munus and the Dingir-Nitah have merged. Once the true god has consumed the other, it will be extremely difficult to kill." 

"Right, then," Faith says. "I say we get moving. I'm half tempted to make you girls come as you are -- a pissed off slayer is a motivated fighter. But I'll give you five minutes to change and grab all the weapons you can. I'll have Andrew bring both cars around back so the swords and shiny battle axes don't scare the shit out of the neighbors. Let's hit it." 

She grabs one of the floorplans off the table and offers it to Wes with a smile. "Told you we needed to get your ass to the Hall of Fame." 

* * *

_The diamond by the water._ It makes perfect sense to her now. 

What a fuckin' slippery place this is. It presents a totally different face depending which direction you approach from. Faith remembers hearing it was designed by some famous architect -- famous to everyone but her, that is. She wonders if he has ties to Wolfram & Hart. Hell, who doesn't? These days, even Wes and Angel do. Anyway, it seems like there's some major-league mojo attached to this place, more than just cleverness of design. 

Kennedy has a brain flash when they spot a group of these robed freaks pausing at the entrance of a parking garage, waiting to emerge. "As my grandmother endlessly tells me, it's easier reaching the upper levels if you dress like you already belong. So I'm thinking--" 

"We grab these guys and help ourselves to their robes." 

"You got it. They might have invitations or passes of some kind, too." 

"Anyone watching from the booth?" 

"This side's the prepaid and credit card only," Buffy says. The Hall was one of her favorite patrol spots during summer hours, and again now that the gap between regular closing time and sunset is narrowing. "The only manned booth is on the other street." 

Dawn pulls the car up to the entrance ramp. She's really getting off on the whole getaway driver gig. 

Faith shoves open her door. "Let's get this done." 

* * *

It creeps Kalindi out bigtime, as Claire would say, to see Faith and the others in those robes, especially once they pull up the hoods. It seems a little worse because the four of them -- including Buffy, Willow and the other Englishman, Mr. Wyndam-Price -- separate themselves from the group of slayers. At the same time, she feels a weird relief to have them gone. 

Giles has them wait and watch until Faith's group has made it inside the Hall without incident. Then he gives the signal for the rest to make their assault. 

* * *

Her dad's gonna die if he ever finds out. All the stuff in here is like holy relics to him. He must've read every single sign by every single guitar in the entire place. Jenny hears all kinds of breaking glass, and it's hard to tell if it's from the display cases inside, or from the glass walls of the pyramid itself. 

Like Faith said about the ones in the parking garage, these guys are mostly lightweights. Human, it turns out, so she has to pull her punches some. That policy changes, though, the second she sees anyone laying a hand on A.L. 

She keeps a lookout for Kennedy's dark hair, follows in her wake, thrusting aside anyone in her way, now and again thwacking one with the flat of her blade. 

They're lame fighters. Jenny doesn't think they know why they're here. If she worshipped some ancient god that she was bringing to earth, she'd be a lot fiercer than this. These guys are just as half-assed as the Methodist side of her Mom's family. 

One thing she's pretty damn sure of. The fanatics are most likely upstairs where things are gonna happen, and she doesn't think those guys will think twice about killing her. 

She tightens her grip on her sword and plunges on after Kennedy. 

* * *

Kalindi gets only disjointed flashes of the things on display here, but it's crazy. Clothes, cars, all in kaleidoscopic colors and patterns. The Huli Wigmen make more sense to her. She understands the land they come from. 

She's never been in a big free-for-all like this fight, either, and it's nothing like she'd feared. Most of them fight clumsily, ineffectually. Almost like the men she's seen outside the rascal bars back home on patrol with Whistler. Those would start with this kind of flailing, uncoordinated pushing and shoving, accompanied by a lot of cursing. But those fights turned deadly often enough, so she knows better than to assume she's safe. 

Fighting her way clear of them, Kalindi looks around to get her bearings. She catches a glimpse of dark, curly hair -- Jenny -- and sets off after her. 

* * *

Faith follows the signs to the Hall of Fame part. She slips into the multimedia theater, dark and pulsing with sound. It's exactly what she expected, but disorienting all the same, the music so loud it feels like her molecules are being shifted with every bass note. 

She can't keep herself from calling his name, but it's like the sound that surrounds her snatches the word from her lips and neutralizes it before it ever reaches the air. The vibration forces its way inside her, through her parted lips and down her throat, into lungs and belly and below. 

She can't let herself be paralyzed this way. 

"Xander!" She can't hear herself, can't even feel the shout in her throat over the throb of the music in her body. She screams his name, to even less effect. 

"Faith." His voice is low, yet she hears it as if he's standing next to her. "I'm so glad you got here in time." 

_She's in time._ Relief floods her, making her almost weak. _Or is that the music?_

"The god's coming any minute." He sounds excited, like a true believer. "Then everything's going to change." 

* * *

She tries for casual, even though she can't hear herself. "End of the world's a little more change than I'm looking for. I'm thinking more like some highlights." 

His voice, amused and conversational, somehow rides this tsunami of sound that buffets her, perfectly audible -- yet she can't tell where it's coming from, can't see him. "Not the end of the world. It's the beginning of a better one." 

"What makes you sure it's better, babe?" 

"I'll take you up and show you. I've been hoping I'd have you by my side. We can go as soon as I'm finished." 

"Finished with what?" But she knows, she remembers the dream. She will not let this happen. 

Taking a few uncertain steps farther into the theater, she desperately looks for him, but her eyes refuse to adapt to this living darkness. "Xander, don't let them do this to you. Tell me where you are." 

He laughs. "Top of the world, ma." 

Not funny. She's seen that old movie -- not the dumbass Titanic one, but that old gangster flick with what's-his-name. She knows what happens. 

Only this time it happens to the whole world. 

It requires a terrible effort to take another step into this wall of sound. She's pushing forward a second step when everything's bathed in a blinding light, a deafening silence. 

* * *

Jenny watches them get swallowed up by the room with the music, first Faith and then Kennedy. She can't think of it any other way. Faith disappears completely, while she can still see Kennedy standing still just inside the entryway, transfixed. 

Part of her wants to plunge in there after them, after A.L. But if Faith can't fight whatever is in there, Jenny doesn't stand a chance. 

She looks around for some kind of control panel. There has to be something running the lights and sound equipment -- she just hopes it's outside of the theater. 

She senses more than hears footsteps pounding up behind her. Whirling, she brings up her sword. It's Kalindi, though, charging after Faith and Kennedy like she's rounded third and is thundering toward home just ahead of the throw from short. 

"Hold up, hold up!" Jenny yells, throwing up her free arm like a third-base coach. 

"But they're--" 

"I don't think we can help them in there. Help me find the control panels." 

Just as she proved the other night, Kalindi's good at assessing a situation. She switches gears and helps Jenny look, exclaiming as she finds a locked box set into the wall. It's not much of a challenge for a slayer with a lever. Kalindi slips the blade of her battle axe into the seam of the control box and pops the door. 

"Hit the lights," Jenny calls out, and Kalindi goes her one better by cutting the sound too. The sudden silence is almost a physical slap. "Shit," she breathes. She sees Faith and Kennedy still frozen, their dark-adapted eyes dazzled by the sudden intensity of the light. They're turned away from A.L., who's kneeling on a fancy stool of some kind, face tilted up toward a guy wearing a blue cloak instead of the brown worn by the others she's seen. Some kind of priest, she guesses. She can only see the left side of A.L.'s face, and there's just deep shadow where his false eye used to be. 

He doesn't struggle when Blue Robe takes his face in a strong grip. She sees the gleam of a knife blade, surprisingly small. 

Jenny's not even aware of reaching for the knife tucked in her waistband, taking aim. In her mind, she is just looking at the guy in the robe, then he is falling, a hand at his throat, which is blossoming red. 

Turning, A.L. looks directly at her, a gaze that's empty and terrible, as much for the expressionless in his one eye as the absence of the other. "You think you can stop this? It's preordained." He looks to where the priest's jeweled knife has fallen, even as Faith dives to scoop it up. Unconcerned, he reaches down and pulls Jenny's blade from the priest's throat, switching his grip as he prepares to plunge it into his own eye. 

With a strangled shriek, Faith hurls herself at A.L.'s legs, sprawling him on the floor. "Kennedy!" She clips him across the jaw and he slumps to the carpet. "Hog-tie him, sit on him, whatever you have to do, just keep him from hurting himself or anyone else." She rises and gives Kennedy room to move in. "I've got myself a god to kill." 

* * *

"You think you can stop this? It's preordained." 

Kalindi freezes as Xander pins Jenny in his blank and terrible gaze. For a moment she's on Paga Hill with Betty. 

But he's not like her. There is no malice in his expression, just indifference. 

No taunts, just cold predictions of what's to be. 

She prays that he's not as gone as Betty. That the real Xander will return when the ancient god is destroyed. 

She prays that it won't be her who has to kill him if that's the only way to save the world. 

_O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me._

Kalindi asks God for the strength to do it, if she's the only one who can. 

_Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt._

She turns and runs after Faith, to help her fight the god. 

* * *

It just about kills Faith to walk away from Xander. She hopes whatever it is that's making him crazy doesn't also give him the super-strength it would take to overpower Kennedy and get his hands on any kind of eye-removal implement. As long as he thinks he has a destiny and that he has to be "finished" to bring it about, he's in danger. The only reason she's able to leave him behind is the certainty that he won't be safe until this god thing is over. 

The others have gone on ahead by a couple of different routes. A fighter and a magic-wielder on each team, though the lines get a little blurry. Willow and Buffy on the one team, Rupert and Wes on the other. The two watchers are a little more balanced in skills, both serious fighters and formidable with the magic, though Wes edges Giles on the sheer cold-eyed warrior front. She hopes they're over any past shit that's between them that might make them slip up. 

She hopes they're not too late already, that this change that's come over Xander can be reversed. What if he's never again the man she loves, who loves her? 

Rounding a corner, she comes face to face with another blue robe. He raises a weapon, but she cuts him dead before she can even tell what exactly he's wielding. She must be on the right track, because she keeps running into more, and these are the elite, the ones who know what they're fighting for, unlike the lame-ass brown robes downstairs. 

Faith feels better than she's felt since Xander first disappeared. Here's something she knows how to do, a threat she can see and respond to. 

She knows what she's fighting for too. 

* * *

The lower entrance to the multimedia theater makes a kind of bottleneck, so Jenny stations herself there to ensure no one gets in but their side. She likes fighting in a tight space, she discovers. She can keep it to one opponent at a time. Her sword clatters along the hallway, knocked from her hand by a jarring blow. She raids a display case for a guitar, which she wields like a bat until it wins her the blade of the first fighter who tries to make it past her. 

They keep trying to drive her back, where the entrance widens out and they can overrun her. She wishes some of the other slayers would make it up here. She hopes it's not a bad sign that none has since Kalindi. Jenny didn't see where she went; she hopes she's okay. 

When the chanting starts, it permeates the entire building. It startles her just enough that one of the enemy manages to drive her back and cuts around her into the theater. 

She mutters a curse as she feels blood flowing down her side, then she pushes forward to block the entry again. "Kennedy!" she yells. "One got through!" 

* * *

Faith's sword arm is burning when she makes it to the top level, and she's taken a knife slash across her belly. It hurts less than the gashes inflicted by the psychic chick's cat. 

And speak of the devil. 

Faith's pretty sure, anyway. The woman who stands at an altar in the midst of all the U2 memorabilia is turned away from her, and her hair is completely white. 

But somehow Faith knows, even before she speaks. 

"He's no longer yours," Serafina says. She turns then to face Faith. "He belongs to the visions now. And soon he'll belong to the god." 

Just then the chanting begins, as deafening as the eerie music which had held her suspended. 

Serafina smiles. "We all will." 

* * *

The chanting makes the hair rise at the back of Kalindi's neck. There's no way to go to its source -- or to run from its influence -- because it's seemingly coming from everywhere. The stream of blue robes slows as Faith fights her way up the great glass pyramid, and Kalindi takes a moment to perform an experiment. Wrenching a fire extinguisher from the wall, she aims a stream of chemicals at a speaker overhead until the chanting is broken up by crackles and static. 

Good. If the source of that pervasive sound is mechanical and not mystical, she's got an answer for that. She clutches the extinguisher to her and tries to summon a mental picture of the floorplan. It's difficult to hold in her mind -- the shape of each floor seems to bear no relation to the one above or below, and each is drawn to a different scale -- she almost wonders if the building was designed to cloak itself from scrutiny this way. 

Nothing she's seen so far seems to lend itself to being the source of the sound. Keep moving upward. The fight will be up there. 

She makes it to the fourth floor, which contains another theater and the beginnings of the U2 exhibit. Inanely, she thinks of Ashley, her penpal back when Kalindi lived in PNG. Ashley likes this band; she wonders if she's gotten here to see this. 

_Pray for me, Ashley._ She fires the extinguisher at an advancing blue robe. 

She's emptied out the canister by the time she reaches the fifth floor, but she finds yet another use for it. Tucked off the exhibit floor is a radio studio, named after someone she's never heard of. Through the glass she sees a cluster of purple robes ( _new color, not good_ ) around a microphone. 

The chanting deepens, sending prickles all through her skin. One of the purple robes lifts a ceremonial bowl and another touches a flame to its contents. 

Kalindi doesn't wait for more. She hefts the fire extinguisher and hurls it through the glass. 

* * *

Faith looks around. The others went on ahead -- they should be here. Unless -- 

"Don't worry," Serafina says. "They've already come. Each has brought a sacrifice for the god. How beautiful that you have brought us both male and female." 

Faith spots the first of them then. It's Wes's hand she sees first, glistening red against the floor, fallen away from the slash across his throat. 

She brings her blade up, turning to scan the room. No enemy here, but she spots Buffy's still form on the floor beside another display case. She looks broken, limbs in impossible positions, like a rag doll cast aside by a thoughtless child. "B.--" Faith takes a step forward, but then she catches sight of Giles, battered and bleeding, slumped before a display of costumes. She can hear his labored breathing even over the chanting, but she doesn't think she will for very much longer. 

"Such rare gifts," says the psychic. "They've brought the god their greatest moment of brokenness. Surely you didn't come empty-handed." 

Yeah, she's got something for the god, all right. She raises her sword, and suddenly a sharp pain rips through her lower belly. Looking down, she sees the bright blossom of blood on her leather pants as her old knife scar tears open. "B.," she says again, faintly, and then she is falling and falling and falling, and everything goes dark. 

* * *

Stupidly, Kalindi had thought the chanting would just stop. But most of the purple robes keep at it, while a few swarm out of the radio studio to deal with her. 

_Fight for your life later. Get the chanting stopped first._ Frantically she races past the display cases until she finds a niche with a fire extinguisher. She hits one of the purple robes in the head with it and sprays the other two with chemicals, shoving her way past them and running full tilt back to the studio. 

She aims the extinguisher nozzle through the ruins of the window, directing the spray at the broadcasting equipment inside. 

The chanting still rings throughout the building, punctuated by a burst of static here and there. 

Kalindi moves closer to the window, keeping up her assault, though one of the robes scrambles up on the console and swipes at her with a jeweled knife. She's not sure how much of the chemicals she has left, so she keeps it trained on the equipment, not her assailant, trying to dance out of his reach while staying close in. 

A sound tears through the building from above, a noise she can't even think how to describe. _Crashing_ doesn't do it justice. The building is like a living thing, shrieking as its skeleton and skin are twisted and torn. 

Glass rains down through the circular stairway from the top floor. 

_Too late._

She will finish this anyway. 

She launches herself through the shattered window and begins clubbing at the machines with the extinguisher. 

* * *

Something happens to the sound of the chanting. It starts with static, then begins cutting in and out. 

Jenny's sure something important is happening, and suddenly she's not so in love with the tight space she's guarding. She's acutely aware of the way her vision is narrowed by this passageway, aware that she knows nothing at all about what's going on anywhere but before her. 

There's a crash from above that makes the building shudder. This one-enemy-at-a-time fight isn't enough anymore. The battle is above her. 

Backing into the mouth of the theater, Jenny calls out, "Kennedy? I think I need to be upstairs." 

"Go. I'm good here." 

Once Jenny finishes off her opponent, she gets a quick look at the situation. Kennedy's taken Faith's advice and hog-tied A.L., who's struggling against his bonds. Probably feeling the same call to be upstairs in the action that she does. The blue robe who'd gotten past her lies dead on the floor. The hand that extends toward a fallen weapon doesn't look human. She grabs up the battle axe he was reaching for. Smaller than she'd like, but better than none. She drops her sword for the double-headed axe. 

"Hang in, Kennedy." _And you too, A.L._ As she turns to head upstairs, she spots a milky-white glimmer on the dark carpeting near the dead priest. Some crazy impulse leads her to scoop that up too as she lopes by, smooth as gathering a ground ball into her glove. She tucks it into the watch pocket of her jeans as she hits the ramp leading to level four. _For luck._

The sound is still coming from above, so she makes a right and heads straight for the stairs to five. Glass is falling in a hailstorm down the center stairs circling from above. Jenny catches only a partial glimpse of the creature battering its way into the top of the building, but it's monstrous in every sense of the word. When they'd had the briefing on this god thing, the words male and female had lulled her into thinking of something recognizable, something that had elements approximating the human, but this -- 

If this is the female, and females are the smaller of this race, they are so very screwed. 

* * *

The sound equipment finally gives it up in a shower of sparks, but the noise from above is so terrible Kalindi can barely tell the difference. She smashes the bowl with the burning herbs for good measure while the purple robes claw at her. All she has for weapons is the extinguisher and a knife in her waistband, but she's afraid to drop the canister to get to her blade. There are just too many trying to get at her. 

If she's going to die, she's actually glad she saw Aunt Meg today. She's certain her _kandere_ was reassured by her visit, that Meg will console her parents and tell them Kalindi died in a state of grace. She wants them to have that, though she's sorry it's based on a lie. 

A scream tears the air from above, making her drop the extinguisher to cover her ears. It's not a possible sound, not a human one, and it drives the purple robes to their knees. 

The door to the studio splinters inward, and a hand reaches in to seize Kalindi's arm and jerk her outside. 

"Upstairs!" Jenny shouts. She snatches up weapons from the fallen blue robes outside the studio. 

Kalindi grabs the offered battle axe, and they run for the circular stairs. 

* * *

The point of the pyramid is now completely opened to the sky, its top sheared off like a soft boiled egg nestled in its cup. Jenny's not so sure this comparison is off the wall -- that thing screeching overhead probably _will_ eat her for breakfast, or at least try. 

Correction: _those things_. 

A second one has joined the first, and it's the one that's doing the screaming that vibrates through every cell of Jenny's body. _This sound alone will kill me if it goes on long enough._ The breath goes out of her, as if she's been kicked in the ribs. The side of her right thigh is on fire, and distantly she's aware of blood running down her leg into her sock. 

The first thing -- _dragon_ comes to mind but it's not even close; she might as well call it _airplane_ or _kite_ \-- circles around the second, screeching, and Jenny finally takes it all in. Only half of the second thing is visible -- only half of it is there. She can only guess that when the chanting stopped, whatever opening allowed it to enter the world snapped shut on it. 

_So maybe we caught a break._

The first thing tugs at the second, and briefly Jenny thinks it's trying to pull the other on through. But the screams of the second get louder, and she realizes the first is tearing at its flesh. 

"Ah, _shit_." What was it Mr. Pryce had said? The true god would devour the other. Looks like it's not waiting for the seers to point out which is which. 

Looks like there's only her and Kalindi around to kill it, so they'd better get it done. 

Jenny swings her battle axe, screaming like a berserker, and charges at the first thing. 

* * *

As Kalindi reaches the top of the stairway, she's hit by a wave of dizziness. She stops to steady herself and catches sight of Faith crumpled on the floor, unconscious. There's a lot of blood. 

Her hands are suddenly slicked with sweat, and she shifts her grip on her axe to wipe her palms on her pants. Her head is pounding -- she can't think of a worse time for a relapse of the malaria. 

A spray of blood -- it's not red, so it's not Jenny's, thank God -- splatters across her face, and it doesn't even feel hot against her fevered skin. 

Kalindi summons every bit of her strength, charging in after Jenny. 

* * *

One good thing about being a fraction of the size of her enemy -- at least Jenny has speed and agility on her side. 

She grips the battle axe like a bat and swings from her heels. 

_Swing away_ , her mind stupidly supplies, flashing on Joaquin Phoenix in _Signs_. Who hadn't seen _that_ plot development coming for a good ninety minutes before it happened? 

_Funny how her mind can pick apart a movie as she's hacking apart an ancient god monster. It's a lot easier to think about Joaquin Phoenix than this thing with wings and claws and horns, scalding her exposed skin with its bluish-green blood._

Something's wrong with Kalindi. 

She's in there fighting, but her focus is gone. Maybe it's gotten her, though Jenny doesn't see any blood -- red blood. 

Jenny plants her feet. _Swing away._

* * *

Kalindi's not sure what's hallucination and what's real. 

_Surely this thing she's hacking away at can't be real, can it?_

Maybe this whole thing is a fever-dream. Cleveland. The matakiau. Whistler. The whole notion that she's some kind of superhero. 

Maybe she's having a really bad night, back in her bed in Papua New Guinea. 

Doesn't matter. Dream-Jenny is counting on her. And if she can't slay a dragon in her dreams, where can she? 

* * *

Jenny's shoulders are on fire, but this fucking thing shows no sign of dying. 

Its claws rake her ribs, and she falls back out of reach, panting, watching a moment to see if she can spot a vulnerability. 

Kalindi's rallied, hacking away with her own axe. 

And there's a sight that makes Jenny shout: 

Vi and Rona scrambling up the stairs with their own weapons raised. 

Grinning, she picks up her axe again and charges back into the fray. 

* * *

_Give me strength_ , Kalindi prays. She's flagging, and she's so afraid she'll get Jenny killed. 

Jenny falls back, but Kalindi can't look away from her opponent to see how badly she's hurt. 

_Please don't let her die._

She hears a shout, barely audible beneath the howls of the gods, and then Jenny's back. She's brought two other girls, and one of them is Betty. Her heart leaps to see her best friend again, but there's no time even to speak. She gives the three of them room to work and concentrates her efforts on the half-god stuck between worlds. 

_I know how you feel._

Betty cries out, and when she falls back, her arm is hanging at an odd angle. She calls out to the girl she brought with her and they trade weapons, so she can rush back in to continue the fight one-handed. 

As Kalindi swings her axe it slips out of her sweat-slicked hands mid-stroke. It skitters across the floor, but her yelp of dismay is swallowed by the scream of the half-god. One of its horns is dangling, nearly sliced away by the last axe blow. 

"The horns!" she shouts. "Go for the horns!" 

The half-god takes a swipe at her with its massive front leg, flicking her away like a ragdoll. 

As she struggles to catch her breath, she assesses her situation. Her axe is beneath the god Betty is fighting. To retrieve it would be death. 

There must be another fire extinguisher on this floor. It's better than nothing. She drags herself to her feet and searches for it. Next to it is something even better. She seizes the fire axe and runs back to finish the job. 

* * *

Even with the three of them hacking away at this beast, Jenny's not sure they're inflicting much damage. Rona's arm is hurt, and she's not getting much strength behind her strikes. Vi, on the other hand, is doing her damnedest to make up for Rona's weakness. Jenny'd love to see her try her hand at baseball. 

If any of them live. 

A woman with pure white hair launches herself at Kalindi just as she's hacking at her beast's horn. Though she doesn't look like a match for a slayer, she manages to take Kalindi down. Jenny doesn't see more than that, because she's got her own worries. 

A scream fills the room that makes Jenny's knees turn to water. The thing that's caught halfway between this world and its own is convulsing, dying. 

She can't tell if it's being crushed in this dimensional hole or if it's the wound to the head that's killing it, but it's looking like time to test that theory. 

She shoulders her axe, shouts at the others to stand back from the first god-thing. She plants her back foot to swing for the fences, aiming for the horn in the center of its head. 

_Swing away._

* * *

A second inhuman scream joins the first, and it sounds like the end of the world. Kalindi's certain her head will crack open from the sound. 

The white-haired woman who tackled her is screaming too, but Kalindi can't hear her, only sees. Tears bathe the woman's cheeks as she watches the death throes of both gods. She scrambles over Kalindi to seize the fire axe, raising it two-handed over her own head, poised to split Kalindi's skull like firewood. 

The fever has her, and she can't summon the strength to fight off the woman. She can barely scare up the words to a quick prayer for forgiveness before she dies. 

As the screams of the gods start to fade, Kalindi hears a desperate shriek from one of the girls, and then a body crashes into the woman who kneels over her. 

Jenny. 

The fire axe clatters across the floor as the woman howls in outrage. 

"Give it up, it's over," Jenny yells at her, and Kalindi can hear her, because at last there's silence from the gods. 

The fever breaks, and Kalindi lets herself slip into unconsciousness. 

* * *

The white-haired woman collapses beneath her, and Jenny finally has a moment to survey the carnage. "Shit. _Shit._ " She thinks she says it out loud, but her ears are ringing from the assault of noise until she's not sure. 

Faith is on the ground, covered in blood. Her chest is rising and falling, but she looks ... like she's not in there. Buffy does look dead, and Mr. Giles seems like he's headed that way. 

Rona has let herself slide to the floor, cradling her arm. Vi's kneeling by her, attending to her. Jenny should be doing the same for Kalindi, but first she has to take this in. 

It feels like a scene from some apocalypse movie, after everything's turned to rubble and bodies. Except these bodies are her friends and allies and teachers. 

She's unprepared for the tide of grief that batters her. _I don't know how to do this_ , she thinks numbly. All her grandparents are still around; she's never known anyone who died. 

Even poor Mr. Pryce, who came all this way just to help out, lies alone with his throat torn open. There's something so sad about him, something he carried with him almost like a saint with a halo, almost visible even though he seems so intensely private. 

Maybe there's something that still can be done for Faith and Mr. Giles, and she should check on Kalindi. 

As she picks her way back through the broken glass and the god-thing parts, she hears a soft groan. "Every time I do this, I swear it's the last time." 

Jenny whirls toward the sound of the voice, in utter shock. "Buffy. I thought --" 

"Yeah, so did I." She sits up, moving her limbs experimentally, finding that they seem to work fine. Taking the hand Jenny offers, she pulls herself up. She's caught by the sight of the giant carcasses at the top of the staircase. "Oh my god. What --" 

"We killed them," Jenny says simply. 

* * *

Jenny's not sure where Willow came from, she just notices her tottering through the wreckage. She looks like hell. 

Though Willow's looking toward Buffy, it seems to take a while for her presence to sink in. Finally the mental fog burns off enough for each to recognize the other and exclaim her relief that the other's okay. 

"We've got wounded," Jenny says. "Faith and Mr. Pryce and Mr. Giles are worst off. I think we'd better do something quick, but I'm not sure it's safe to move Mr. Giles." 

"Oh god," Willow whispers. She kneels beside him as his eyes flutter open. "Giles." 

"I'm quite all right, Willow," he says, but he sounds terrible. There's a vibe between the two of them that Jenny's never seen before, one that makes her feel she has no business witnessing this scene. She turns to attend to Faith, but Buffy is at her side. 

Jenny makes her way back to Mr. Pryce, but he's begun to stir by the time she gets to him. There's dried blood on his hand when he touches his own neck, but there's no wound, just a pink scar. "Mr. Pryce, are you okay?" 

When he looks up at her, his expression is so bleak it matches the raw lake wind that pours through the shattered top of the pyramid. "I believe so, yes. What's your name again?" 

"Jenny." 

He nods. "Thank you, Jenny." 

Weirdly, it feels sincere and also like a dismissal. She nods in return and finds her way back to Kalindi, who's unconscious, yet somehow she seems okay. Jenny checks her for wounds and finds some cuts and bruises, but none seems severe enough to account for this swoon. 

The white-haired woman, too, is sprawled nearby, motionless. 

_Oh god. Her dream._

She'd forgotten, with all that's been going on. But she'd had that dream a while back, before Kalindi came. Faith had been fighting with the black-haired girl, who'd turned out to be Kalindi. And there'd been the white-haired woman who pulled A.L. into the sunlight, where he'd burst into flame. 

Jenny scrambles to her feet and makes a tear-ass dash for the circular stairway. 

_Oh god oh god oh god. A.L._

* * *

Pain spears through her side and her head, and everything inside her head is dark, dark. She hears crashing and inhuman screams, but it's all from a great distance. 

So cold. 

She thought he'd come to her. He did the other time things went dark. Just for a little while, to tell her she was his girl, that she could do anything, fight her way back through the darkness. 

He never came back, though, and he's not here now. 

"Faith." 

The voice comes from a long way away. It's not him. 

"Faith, listen to me. It was just a spell. You can come out of this." 

Not him. It's B. But B. doesn't believe in her. 

She tries to draw the darkness around her, but it denies her the comfort. She drifts toward the light, and Buffy's concerned face is there when she emerges. 

"Jesus." 

"Yeah," B. says. "It's over now." 

She sits up abruptly, then clutches at Buffy's shoulder as her head swims. "Xander." 

Faith takes the hand Buffy extends to her and rises to her feet. She picks some weapons from the gore surrounding her, offers a couple to Buffy. "Last I saw, he was on level three. The Hall of Fame theater." 

* * *

By the time Jenny hits the ramp down to the multimedia theater, she's running flat-out. She half-expects to encounter some pockets of resistance, but her path is eerily clear. 

As she enters the theater, Kennedy whirls, weapon raised. She relaxes when she sees it's Jenny. 

"The gods are dead. We're -- I think we're mostly okay. What about you and A.L.?" 

"I'm good, a few cuts, but okay. Xander -- he collapsed when all that screaming died down." She waves her sword arm toward the curved wall across from the video screens. A.L. is curled there on the floor, bound at wrists and ankles. With his broad shoulders hunched inward, he seems so much smaller than usual. Her heart clutches when she sees the shadow where his false eye had been. 

He's so very still. Did he -- and the white-haired woman -- die when the monsters did? 

Kneeling by him, she touches his shoulder. "A.L." 

There's no response, but his chest rises and falls. 

A wave of relief sweeps through her, though she's not sure she's earned it yet. "It's okay," she tells him, and she hopes it turns out to be true. 

Footsteps pound down the ramp to the theater, and she and Kennedy raise their weapons as one, ready to defend him. 

It's Faith and Buffy, though, and Jenny lets out a breath. 

"He's here," she says. "He's out like a light, but he's alive." 

By the time she turns back, that statement's only half true. His eye is open, his gaze fixed on Faith. 

"Babe," he says. 

* * *

Faith's heart nearly stops when she sees the hollow where his eye was, but then she realizes it's the left, and it's just the prosthesis that's missing. There's something off about his gaze, though: intense in one way, nearly absent in another. It's not reassuring. 

She doesn't even know how to ask what she needs to know. "Are you all right?" is how it comes out. 

"I am soooooo stoned," he says faintly. 

Relief gusts through her so fiercely that her knees will barely hold her up. She covers by kneeling beside him to work at his bonds. "They fed you mushrooms, didn't they?" She doesn't want to think about the other preparations she'd dreamed about. 

"Yeah." He blinks. "Could've been worse. Could've been anchovies." 

She gets his arms free, helps him sit up, then starts on his feet. "We'll get you out of here, but we might have to fight our way out." 

"No," he says dreamily. "The priests are dead. Ritual suicide. The others -- stoned, is all." He catches sight of Jenny. "You did great, Jen. You made with the Joaquin." 

Jenny, who's been hovering, takes a quick step back. 

"Let's get you on your feet," Buffy says. She and Faith each drape one of his arms over her shoulders and they get him up. He staggers, but she thinks it's more from the mushrooms than from having been tied up. Faith can't help but flash on the night Caleb gouged out his eye, the sight of him half-dragged out of the winery by Buffy and Spike. 

Buffy looks over at Jenny. "You beat the god to death with a _wok_?" 

Jenny laughs, but it has that note of the freaked-out. No shit -- he's been tied up in the theater all this time. Hell, Faith was in the same room, and she has no fucking clue what happened. 

They make it to the museum cafe. She'd briefly entertained the notion of getting him out on the terrace in hopes the fresh air would sober him up a little, but there no longer is a terrace. There's fresh air anyway, because there's a whole lot of nothing where the glass wall used to be. And a metric shitload of emergency vehicles crowding the plaza-that-looks-like-an-old-school-record-player, casting red and blue and white light on what's left of the pyramid. 

"Kennedy," Faith says. "Would you run up to the top and bring down the others? I think we should leave together. And we may need to have Willow do one of those glamour things to get us out of here. Jenny, you go too. Some of them may need help walking." 

"She's killer with the Joaquin," Xander supplies as they let him slide into a wire chair. 

For once Jenny looks thrilled to be out of his presence as she races toward the fire stairs after Kennedy. 

* * *

_How did he do that?_ It was like he'd not only watched the battle, but read her mind. 

At least he was back on the right side. 

By the time Jenny makes it to the top of the museum, everyone's back in the land of the living. Vi and Rona are kneeling beside Kalindi, who looks okay again. Rona's arm, which she'd been sure was broken, seems to have nothing wrong with it. 

Jenny still has plenty of cuts stinging on her arms and her side. The sharp pain in her ribs, though, and the burning in her thigh -- which she'd actually forgotten in the heat of battle -- are gone. 

Kennedy has gone straight to the white-haired woman, who's managed to sit up. She doesn't look like a threat anymore. She's dreamy and unfocused as A.L., and fairly shaken. 

Mr. Giles and Mr. Pryce are conferring over the corpses of the monsters. Willow watches them, troubled about something. 

How can they all stand to be in this shattered room with these dead things, sitting and standing around as if they're in a bus station or something? 

"We have to go," she blurts. "There's all kinds of police and firetrucks down there. Faith's waiting down on the third floor so we can leave together. Sooner the better, I'm thinking." She marvels at herself, giving what seems to be an order. 

And that the last sentence sounds a little like Faith. 

"Yes, you're absolutely right," Mr. Giles says. He urges the others onto their feet, herds them toward the rubble-filled stairway. He pauses as he reaches Jenny. "Did you find Xander?" 

She nods. "He's okay. A little freaky. But at least he's back rooting for the home team." 

He manages a smile, and looks a little less old. "I'm glad to hear it." They begin picking their way down the circular stairs. "It seems I missed the whole of the battle, but Jenny, you've done quite well." 

Jenny grins. _You've done quite well._ Better than a home run and a round of high-fives. 

* * *

"Wait!" Kalindi calls as they're all about to plunge down the fire stairs. "The robes." Faith, Willow and Mr. Wyndam-Pryce are still wearing the stolen cloaks. They remind her too much of the battle just now, of the attack at the hospital chapel. She lets out a relieved sigh as they shed the robes, piling them on one of the wire cafe chairs. 

"Will, are you ready?" Buffy asks. 

Willow nods. She still looks pale and shaken. "The glamour will work better if you're bunched as closely together as you can get. Just before we get to the fire door, hold up for a moment so I can make sure the spell's in place. I'll give the signal when it's okay to go." Quickly they follow her instructions, and though the glamour's a little shaky, they manage to get through the plaza without attracting any attention that sticks to them. 

It's impossible not to pause in the middle of the street and look back at the flashing lights and chaos surrounding the ruined building. Even as she gives in to the impulse, she thinks of Lot's wife, taking one last backward glance at Sodom and Gomorra, turned to a pillar of salt. 

The only members of their group who don't pause, momentarily frozen in the wash of red and blue and white lights, are Xander, propped up by Faith and Buffy, and the white-haired woman. 

* * *

"What are we gonna do with Samantha here?" Faith asks Giles once they've gotten Xander and the psychic chick into Dawn's getaway car. 

"It's Sera--" Belatedly, he gets it. "Um. Well, yes. I think she should remain with us until the effects of the drugs wear off." 

"Please tell me they are gonna wear off. Or that you have some nice tea that'll counteract them. Because Xander's starting to freak my shit out." 

"I'm certain he'll be fine." The rest is lost in the ear-splitting horns of several firetrucks barreling through an intersection. 

"We'd better hit it," Faith says. 

"Right," says Dawn, flooring the gas pedal. 

When they pull up behind the hacienda, Andrew's crossing the garden before they've even managed to pile out of the cars. "We're set up in the kitchen to deal with the wounded," he says, more solemn than she's ever seen him. "Did everyone make it back?" 

"We did," Giles says. 

Faith is about to ask what _we_ set up the first aid when she spots the muffin hanging back closer to the kitchen door. 

"I came to see if I could help," Gabriel says simply. 

Xander pauses in his stoned shamble toward the back door, fixing Gabriel in his one-eyed gaze. Before Faith can explain why he's there, Xander says, "You must be Elizabeth. Glad you could come." 

Gabriel's jaw drops and he lets the whole group straggle past him. 

"It's been all over the news," Andrew says as they enter the kitchen. They've set a portable TV up on the counter, amid bandages, clean cloths and a tray of instruments. There's a banner on the screen that says _Breaking News_ superimposed on the scene they just left. A reporter is yammering the sort of pointless shit they say when nobody knows anything. 

Once they're all assembled, Andrew announces, "There's a stack of yoga pants and t-shirts on that chair. Changing room is the pantry. We've got a laundry basket for whatever's gory but salvageable, and a trash can for anything that's torn or slashed and can't be fixed. Change into the clean stuff and line up for first aid. And please." He puts his hands on his hips, and Faith finds him a little more recognizable as the Andrew she knows. "Don't forget to pretreat, and do _not_ forget to check your pockets. I spent an hour cleaning gum off the dryer drum last time." 

"Damp softener sheets," Kennedy says. "Takes that right off." 

"How does a rich brat know that?" Rona asks. 

Cracking a grin, Kennedy says, "My family had a maid who believed rich brats should understand the consequences of careless behavior." 

Giles and Wes have some kind of consultation in the corner, then take Xander and Serafina upstairs. 

Andrew claps his hands. "Chop chop. Let's get the first aid line going. I'll have hot tea in a few minutes." 

Kalindi and Jenny are first to disappear into the pantry. 

"Andrew?" Faith says pointedly, "Next time I hear you say 'chop chop,' I will. Got it?" 

"Yes, ma'am." In a loud whisper, he informs Gabriel that Faith can be a little threatening, but basically she's all right. 

Faith is pretty sure Gabriel's got the threatening part already. " _Andrew--_ " 

"Got it." 

A muffled pair of shrieks sounds from the pantry, startling everyone. Jenny bursts into the kitchen in her clean t-shirt and Jockeys for Her, sheepishly holding a fist out toward Faith. "I, uh, grabbed this at the Hall, but didn't really see what it was till now. You might want to give this to A.L." 

She uncurls her fingers, and there on Jenny's blood-streaked palm lies a brown eye. 

* * *

"I don't understand what happened in there," Jenny says. 

Kalindi and Jenny are all patched up now, sipping at the mugs of tea Buffy handed them. Gabriel and Andrew are working on Rona and Vi. Kalindi had expected to be embarrassed beyond belief to have a boy lift up her shirt in a roomful of people, but it wasn't like that at all. Gabriel had been matter-of-fact, cracking a small joke to put her at ease. 

"Rona had a broken arm in there, but now it's fine. Kalindi was hurt somehow, but I couldn't see how. And the rest of you --" Jenny looks up at Faith, her eyes haunted. "Well, I thought -- But you're okay now. Except we've all got cuts and bruises, those didn't go away." 

"It was a spell," Faith says. Whatever happened to her, she hasn't shaken off yet. "Serafina -- she's the white-haired chick, we think she was kidnapped, same as Xander. She was in high priestess mode when I got up there. She told me it was a sacrifice. That each person brought -- shit, I can't remember exactly how she said it. Their most broken moment, something like that." 

"Those terrible things actually happened to you?" Kalindi blurts. 

Faith offers her a bleak smile. "They did." She helps herself to some tea. "Maybe it's time for the cautionary tale. I went wrong. A few years ago. I switched sides, and I forced Buffy to fight me. She cut me, and I took a dive off this balcony. Busted myself up good; if I hadn't been a Slayer --" She flicks a look at Buffy. "Anyway. Not a chapter I was hoping to revisit." 

"I'm with you there," Buffy says. "On yours _and_ mine." 

"You died," Kalindi says, so softly she's not sure anyone hears. "That's what Dawn said." 

"That's true. I -- I took a dive too. To close a portal that had opened between our world and hell. Didn't survive it." She draws herself up, becomes brisk. "Faith's right, it's a good thing to remind each other of these things. I think you all got the 'this is a dangerous life' speech early on, but the history lessons are good too." 

"I was already on the bus," Rona says. "I fight two big fuckin' monsters, and I'm getting the danger thing." 

"One and a half," Jenny corrects her. 

"Whatever." 

"We've never talked about the other," Faith says. "That you can screw up so bad you're playing for the other team. I'm not gonna say no one's immune, because it sounds like I'm trying to let myself off the hook. But it can happen, and you have a million reasons why you're totally justified, but in the end you're doing the work of evil." 

That silences them all for a moment. 

"So what happened to us was the same," Jenny says. "Rona's arm --" 

"It got broken in the last battle for Sunnydale," Vi tells them. She casts a glance over at Rona. "You were so bad off after that battle. I can't believe the way you kept fighting tonight." 

"It was that or be snack food," Rona says. "I don't see how it's any better being a god-snack than a vamp-snack." 

"You got that right," Dawn says. 

Jenny turns to Kalindi. "There was something wrong with you, too, but I couldn't tell how you'd been hurt." 

"Malaria," Kalindi says. "I've been sick from it a few times. Fever. Delirium. Uncontrollable shivering. I had an attack the night I became a slayer, actually. So tonight I wasn't sure the gods weren't just a fever hallucination." 

"Still you fought them," Jenny says. "Even though you could hardly lift a sword." 

She shrugs. "Like Rona said." 

"You figured out how to kill it," Jenny says. "The horn." 

"I was lucky." Not really, she knows, but saying that God directed her hand seems too much like taking some kind of credit. She wants to be on an equal footing with the other slayers, not to claim she's got something they don't have. "What about you?" 

Jenny pauses to think. "Nothing, really." She absently touches the side of her thigh, then her side. "I felt it happen, then I forgot it in the fight." 

"What?" Dawn asks. 

"Something that happened in a ballgame. I hit what was a sure single, but I stretched it into a double. I scraped the shi-- crap out of my leg sliding into second. The shortstop on the other team 'tripped' over me. Kicked me hard in the ribs." She shrugs. "Small stuff, compared to everyone else." 

"Sacrifice to the gods, huh?" Vi says. "All they got out of me was a couple of scabby knees." She's sheepish about her good fortune. 

"None of us, really, has suffered anything like what you guys have," Kalindi says to the older slayers and Willow, who's been oddly quiet. 

"You mustn't forget --" Mr. Giles's voice from the foot of the kitchen stairs startles them all -- "it's your youth and relative inexperience that kept you whole enough to fight the gods. That allowed you to save the rest of us, and keep the world from ending. That let us bring Xander home safely." 

He steps aside, and there's Xander beside him, a little unsteady yet but finally looking like himself. Instead of a deep shadow where his left eye belongs, the false eye is in place, and it almost seems as alive as the other as he looks at them all. "I can't thank you all enough," he says in a subdued voice. 

And though Gabriel has been tending to a gash on her arm, Faith makes a low noise in her throat and pulls away. 

As Faith hurls herself into Xander's arms, Kalindi's eyes spill over with tears. She's sure she's not the only one. 

* * *

She can't breathe until she feels his arms around her. He clutches at her as desperately as she clings to him. "Babe," she murmurs. _I was so scared_ , she means to add, but her throat is so tight with tears she will not shed that she can't get the words out. 

"God, Faith," he whispers. "I came so close to losing myself, losing you." 

All conversation in the kitchen has stopped, leaving the urgent voice of the tv news reporter washing over them. _Speculation, terrorists, suicide cult._ Is it suicide if you take the whole damn world with you? 

"You're here, babe. I came for you. We all did." The tears come then, right there in front of everyone. Somewhere within her a dam breaks and she's swept away, and she no longer cares who's there to see. 

She pulls herself together at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, mopping her face with the palms of her hands as she and Xander step aside to let Wes enter. With him is Serafina, looking drained and fragile. The smoke-colored cat is cradled in her arms, seemingly content. 

Xander reaches out, brushing her shoulder with two fingertips. "You're among friends here." 

She offers him a quavery smile. 

"I'm not certain if you've all met Serafina," Wesley says. "Like Xander, she was taken by the cult to help call the gods forth. Whatever you saw back there, Serafina's a friend." 

She takes in the roomful of wide-eyed slayers. "Ah hell," she says, her voice a little shaky. "Please, call me Wendy." 

* * *

Even with the excitement of recounting the battle for those who were elsewhere or under the sacrifice spell, the baby slayers are doing a fast fade. They all are, but there's too much for the watchers, senior slayers and Scoobies to talk about. Giles sends the girls upstairs with another "well done." 

"Wait," Jenny protests. "We have to clean our weapons." 

Faith can feel the love for this kid beaming out of Xander, another sign that tells her he's really back. 

"You go," Buffy says. "You were the champions tonight." They've all heard Jenny's opinions on knighthood and service. Faith and Buffy have joked about this a little among themselves, even as they've admitted to being strangely moved. "I'm happy to be your squire for the night." 

"I'd be honored as well," Giles says, and Wesley chimes in, and Faith and Xander and Willow. 

"You guys--" Jenny begins, but the rest of the words get stuck. Xander's tough little slayer is on the verge of tears. She bows her head in a funny little gesture of respect, then turns and bolts up the stairs. 

"Chivalry and the slayer," Wes murmurs. His smile tells Faith he's amused and charmed and touched, just like the rest of them. "Wherever did you find her?" he asks Giles. 

"I didn't," he says. "She's Xander's first recruit." 

"Don't give me any credit," Xander says. "She is who she is." 

"Should I get everything?" Gabriel asks. He's been blending into the background after Giles asked him to stick around. Now that he's finished patching up the wounded, he looks ill at ease again, out of his element. "The weapons, I mean. Tell me where they are and I can bring them." 

"Andrew would have a shit fit if we did it here," Faith says. 

Buffy grins. "In the car. Dawn?" 

Dawn stands so she can dig in her jeans pocket, then tosses the keys to Gabriel. "Xander, can I get the tarp from your workshop?" 

"Not that one. There's another in the garage, that one I don't care what you do." 

Once Dawn and Gabriel head out the back door, Faith turns to Xander. "What was that 'Elizabeth' business?" 

"It's how she thinks of herself. The name she took." 

"Jesus," Buffy says. "Don't tell me you read minds now." 

"No. It wore off when the mushrooms did." He casts a quick glance at Serafina -- Wendy. "And I wouldn't call it mind-reading, would you? I just knew things." 

Faith says, "I thought sure you'd be totally wigged by this whole boy slayer thing." In fact, she'd been anticipating the expression on his face when he got a look at his newest slayer. 

"But the slayer line chose her. That's got to be the final word, right? If the power is only for girls, and this kid got handed the power -- that's a pretty clear declaration." 

Gabriel and Dawn come back with the weapons, and they all sit around the tarp-covered table, making like squires, discussing about the recent developments. They give Wendy and Gabriel -- hell, maybe she should start calling him Elizabeth too -- some background on who they are and what they do. They talk about Gabriel's future, and Xander's viewpoint seems to have won converts; he's invited into the hacienda. Giles and Wesley speculate about Wendy and the Guardian line until Faith's eyes are crossing with exhaustion. They don't really know anything yet, that's what it boils down to. 

Finally Faith rises to her feet and gives an extravagant yawn. "Look, I know burrowing into the mysteries gives you watcher boys wood, but I'm cutting out. I believe I'll go upstairs now and fuck my man." 

Xander turns bright red, but he takes the hand she offers and gets to his feet. He looks at the others and shrugs. "Gotta find something to do with that watcher wood. Why don't you all get some sleep? The mysteries will still be there in the morning." 

They climb up the stairs to their little room on the top floor, but once they make it to the bed, they're out. Xander doesn't even get both shoes pulled off before he's sprawled on top of the coverlet. Faith curls up against him, and they both fall into a deep, dreamless -- and visionless -- sleep. 

* * *

The first glimmers of soft gray light filter through the shutters when Faith opens her eyes. She's usually a slow waker, but not this morning, though she doesn't know what roused her. She props herself on an elbow to study Xander, but it's not a vision that brought her awake. He's deep in sleep, his face peaceful in a way she hasn't seen since the dreams started. 

She can make out his long, dark lashes against the paler background of his face, his other features yet indistinct. Just as he'd protested, they _are_ just as pretty as the muffin's -- Gabriel's -- Elizabeth's. Gazing at him makes her long to press a soft kiss on his eyelids, to lay her hand on his chest and feel the shallow rise and fall of his breathing. 

He's safe. He's hers again. 

She breathes a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god (Ptah, maybe?) brought this to pass. 

Says another thank you for the absence of dreams. 

Knowing she can't keep watching him without giving in to temptation to touch him, she slips out of bed. Let him rest. She's starving anyway. 

The whole house is still, everyone sleeping off last night's exertions or relived traumas. Even the floorboards that usually groan at her passing are quiet as she makes her way to the kitchen. 

Faith flicks on the light, starting when she finds she's not alone. Wes sits at the table, now cleared of all evidence of weapon cleaning. He's dressed in jeans and a cotton sweater, but the feet he's cocked up on another chair are bare. In a strange way the sight of his pale feet makes him seem more vulnerable than he ever has. 

"Sorry," she says, her voice hushed. "I thought I was the only one up." 

"It's all right." He gestures to the teapot on the table. "You're welcome to a cup of tea, but I believe it's stone cold by now." 

She gets herself a ceramic mug and sits at the table, moved to share something with him, even though she doubts it'll make him any less alone. "I want to thank you for coming, Wes." It feels like an echo of something she's said to him before. "He means everything to me, and you made sure I got to bring him home." 

"I'm glad, Faith," he says quietly. There's such sadness in his voice, though, that the word sounds wrong, like he's attempting a phrase in a foreign language. 

She sips at her tea for a moment, which has in fact gone cold. She could put it in the microwave, but she doesn't want to lose this moment. "What did you bring the god?" she asks, though it's none of her business and she knows it. 

"What?" 

"The moment of your greatest brokenness." 

He looks away from her, and she knows she's right, that this is the source of his sorrow. 

"I saw you with your throat slashed." She's about to take a gamble, but she lets her intuition guide her words. "It was the demon mauling, wasn't it?" 

Still looking away, he whispers, "Not a mauling." 

"I know." Her voice is barely louder than his. "I got a pretty intimate knowledge of knife scars." 

"I didn't lie to you. Something ... interfered with my memories of that time." 

Faith nods. "That's how it seemed to me. But the sacrifice spell -- that brought everything back?" 

Wes nods, but doesn't speak. He sips at his cold tea. When he finally breaks the silence, the sound of his voice startles her. "I betrayed Angel." 

"Now that I _don't_ believe." If anyone's more fiercely devoted to Angel than she is, it's Wes. She's even privately suspected, on occasion, that he might be in love. 

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Oh, I had the best of motives, and my intentions were pure." The self-loathing in his voice makes her flinch. "I found a prophecy, concerning his son." 

"Angel? He's got no --" But there's an image in her mind that keeps winking in and out, like the princess in the hologram in that first _Star Wars_ movie. A kid, maybe sixteen, seventeen. An expression so habitually angry that it was like looking in a mirror that showed herself at the same age. Faith struggles to recall his name. 

Wesley's gaze sharpens as he watches her efforts. "So, whatever it is that's affected my memory has interfered with yours, as well. Interesting." 

"So this prophecy --" 

"It said that Angel would kill his son. If you'd seen him with that child. How much he loved him --" 

Her breath catches. "You think he might have been in danger of losing his soul?" 

"The thought did cross my mind." 

"What did you do?" 

"I took his son. Things didn't turn out exactly as I'd planned." 

"Don't tell me Angel --" This story makes no sense. He and Angel still work together, they came out for her wedding. 

"No. I was betrayed in turn by someone I should never have trusted. She cut my throat and took the baby to an enemy of Angel's." 

" _Baby_? The kid I'm remembering -- halfway remembering -- was old enough to think about shaving. Maybe your memory was fine, Wes. Maybe it's this sacrifice thing that screwed with your memories -- and mine too." 

"No, that's Connor you're remembering. He was a baby when I took him away. Holtz took him to a hell dimension. Though he was gone a matter of weeks, when he returned he was older. Not to mention half insane and bent on revenge." 

Yeah, just like she'd thought. Like looking in a mirror. 

"What happened to the kid?" 

"I don't -- I believe he's all right. I don't know why or how, but Angel --" 

She waits, but he doesn't finish. "What?" 

Wes offers a wry smile. "Well, he hasn't killed me." 

"Can you work with him, now that you know?" 

"I did. This happened well over a year ago, and whatever happened to my memory -- that's only been a few months. Don't you think the question should be whether he can work with me?" 

"I don't know," she says softly. "Sometimes it's harder to be forgiven than it is to forgive." That makes him turn toward her, his blue eyes studying her. "I know the redemption thing is important to Angel. Both for himself and others. Maybe it was easier for me, though, working toward mine in prison those first couple of years. It's more of an ongoing project, being forgiven." She laughs. "Maybe it just seems that way. I have a helluva lot less to forgive than to be forgiven for." 

"Perhaps you've believed that because no one's thought to ask your pardon." 

She thinks she knows what he's getting at, and this is not right. "Wes --" 

"I handled things badly, back in Sunnydale." 

"What I did --" 

"That's always the sum total of what we talk about when we discuss our history. But there's more to it than that. I failed you as well." 

This admission, which she accepted well enough second-hand from Giles through Xander, makes her squirm now. 

"And it appears I learned nothing from the experience. I made the same mistakes trying to save Connor: refused to listen to advice -- I didn't even seek any, actually. Acted on my own, with disastrous results." 

Faith thinks of her conversation with Xander, his own confession of harm he'd brought to Angel. Remembers what worked on him. "That _is_ terrible," she tells Wes. "God knows I've never made the same mistake twice. Not when I could make it a hundred times." 

Somehow the smile he dredges up makes him look even more bleak and hopeless. 

"Look at when that certainty in yourself worked, Wes." 

Another bitter laugh. "When would that be?" 

"That would be now. Right now. My husband is lying upstairs sleeping off a mushroom high instead of reigning as co-high priest over some post-apocalyptic wasteland. Giles thought this Parthi Codex was a crock of shit, and you stood up for your theory. You saved Xander, and incidentally the world, because you let yourself believe in what you knew." 

He doesn't answer, but now the silence has a little different quality. 

Faith sips her tea for a moment, then takes a deep breath. "So we all know what a wildass I am. I'm going to prove it one more time by making a move that hasn't been processed to death by the whole damn team. Come join us, Wes. We need a fierce warrior for the hellmouth, another ace book guy, magic expert, watcher. You need to get out of Evil, Incorporated. Work with some real books, not with the fuckin' conduit to hell. Make it a short term assignment, if you want, give Xander the benefit of all your stories and experience. Make it permanent if you want. No need to decide right now which it is." 

"Faith, I --" 

She waits for a moment, but that's all he says. "Give yourself a little break from redeeming yourself right under Angel's nose. It's easier at a distance, I think." Faith drains her mug and rises. "Give it some thought. We're not goin' anywhere. Except me, I'm going back upstairs to Xander." 

She climbs the stairs, taking care to avoid the creaky spots, wondering all the while if she's done the right thing. 

* * *

When she reaches their room, Xander is beginning to surface, that slow, dreamy process of stretching bit by bit, punctuated by sighs and humming noises and yawns. He hasn't had an awakening like this since the visions began. 

"Hey," he says drowsily. 

"Morning, babe. How are you feeling?" 

"Surprisingly unhungover. Sleepy, though." 

She slips into bed beside him. "Sleep then. No one's up but Wes." She kisses him, tasting mint toothpaste on his breath. "You've been up." 

"Just long enough to stumble to the bathroom." Sleep still tugs at him; she watches him resist its pull. 

"Maybe I should go brush my teeth, too." 

"No need. Your morning breath is like unto fields of lavender." 

"Liar." 

He touches her face. "Don't go." 

Faith curls up against him, hand over his heart, and they both drift off to sleep. 

When she wakes again, Xander is propped up on an elbow watching her. The light is strong and beginning to heat up the room. "Hey," he says again. 

"Morning, babe." 

"I think at this point it would be 'afternoon, babe.'" He favors her with a long, slow kiss. "Mmmm, lavender." 

Laughing, she makes a move to get up to go brush her teeth, but he catches her gently by the wrist. "My sense of time's all weird. How long was I gone?" 

"Day and a half." 

"Feels like forever." 

"To me too, babe. I was so scared I'd lose you." 

"You got me back." 

"We all did. It was kind of amazing. Wes figured out the whole two-god thing, even though it was from some old text no one credited at all. Ga-- Elizabeth dreamed the final clue to where you were, and Andrew interpreted it. The rest of us were just the wrecking crew." 

"The rest of you were warriors. The ones who fought the god, and the ones who were struck down before you could." He brushes the hair away from her face, feathering his fingertips along her jawline, over her lips. "I want you to know that what you did for Kennedy was huge. This is going to make all the difference to her." 

"You read that?" 

"She told me that while she was hog-tying me. I doubt she expects me to remember, though. You've really got a knack for figuring out what people need, and how they can rise to the occasion." 

"Hell, babe, that had nothing to do with it. No way I was going to let some straight girl sit on you." 

That teases a snort from him. "Liar. You've figured out the leadership thing, Faith." 

"I'm glad you think so, because this morning I invited Wes to move into the hacienda. He didn't give me an answer yet, and I've got no idea how Rupert's gonna take it." 

"It's gonna be yes," Xander says. "And it'll work out fine." 

"Jesus. You saw that?" 

Xander laughs. The sound makes her eyes well. She missed this so much. "Nah. I did see that I can make some flying, half-assed guess and if I sound definite enough, it freaks everyone out." 

"Fathead." 

"I knew you were gonna say that." 

"Oh, yeah? Did you see this comin'?" She teases at his nipple with lips and teeth, trails a fingernail down his belly to the dark thatch of hair, just enough pressure to get his attention. 

He gasps. "I definitely saw coming." 

She swings a leg over him, grinds against his crotch. The little moan she pulls from him makes her grin. "Multiples, I hope." 

"Upwards of a dozen." He snugs his arms around her waist and feathers a hand over her ass. "Collect 'em all!" 

He offers the heat of his minty mouth to her not-very-lavendery one, and sets about making his vision come to pass. 

* * *

End Xander's Slayers by nwhepcat: [nwhepcat@yahoo.com](mailto:nwhepcat@yahoo.com)

See author and story notes above.


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